Trials of the Flesh
by Kenya Starflight
Summary: Fatally wounded by the Decepticons, Ratchet strikes a bargain with Primus to continue living... much to the consternation of both himself and a human game store clerk named Conrad.
1. Chapter 1

**Trials of the Flesh**

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Takes place during and after the events of __Transformers: The Movie._

Yes, I've cheated and bumped the events of this story up from 2005 (or at least the 80s vision of what 2005 was going to be like) to 2013. I feel it works better that way, but that's just me.

Also I've been wanting to write a Ratchet-centric fic for some time - he may not be my absolute favorite character, but I still love the crotchety medic.

* * *

_BOOM!_

_The shuttle bucked underneath the four Autobots, nearly throwing them out of their seats. The sound of the detonation overwhelmed their audial receptors, forcing them to shut down and reboot for protection. Deafened and unsteady, they grabbed onto consoles or the arms of their chairs to maintain their balance. Ratchet managed to remain in his seat only by virtue of Ironhide grabbing his arm and holding him into place._

_The Autobot medic shook his head, wishing there was a way he could speed up the reboot and regain his hearing faster. Slaggit, this was NOT the time for him to be down a sensory system, not when they had a blown engine to contend with! At least, he hoped it was a blown engine. He'd hate to think they just ran into a gang of pirates or some credit-hungry bounty hunter, or that someone had sabotaged their ship._

_His audials came online just in time to hear Brawn's startled shout. "Decepticons!"_

_Ratchet twisted around in his seat, alarm stabbing through him. It couldn't be... this shuttle had been launched in utmost secrecy, surely there was no way the Decepticons could have followed them..._

_His worst nightmares were realized when a terrifyingly familiar figure stepped through the gaping rift in the side of the shuttle - Megatron himself, flanked by Starscream and Soundwave, the Constructicons and the other Seekers crowding in behind him. The silver warlord wore a sinister grin on his faceplate, doubtless quite pleased with his choice of prey at the moment._

_"Decepticons!" he bellowed, "attack!" And with that, he transformed, landing neatly in gun mode in Starscream's hands. _

_The attack seemed to happen in slow motion… and yet Ratchet was powerless to move, to pull a weapon or even flee to safety. He could only watch as bolts of energy punched through Brawn's armor, sending the minibot toppling over. Brawn's limbs spasmed as residual energy coursed through the lines, then went still._

_Prowl leaped from his seat, gun drawn, but before he could squeeze off a shot in return a blast tore through his upper chest. His mouth fell open as if to issue a dying scream, but an eerie whine and a fountain of smoke poured out instead. He, too, crumpled to the floor, the white of his paint already darkening to deathly gray as they watched._

_Ratchet's medical programming screamed at him to dash forward and try to save his felled comrades, but somehow he couldn't get his legs to work. This couldn't be happening… not so close to their goal… not when they had survived so much to come this far…_

_Several guns swung to aim at the medic, and too late he tried to run for cover._

_Shattering pain erupted in his chest, his torso, as bolts of plasma met their marks. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled. A dull thud to his side marked where Ironhide, too, had been shot down. A few more blasts as some Decepticon or other pumped a few more shots into an Autobot chassis to ensure he was good and dead… then silence. The attack was over as quickly as it had begun._

_Ratchet's entire sensor network screamed in pain, but he forced himself to ignore it, to suppress the urge to sink into oblivion and escape. He knew he was in bad shape, and if he let himself black out now, he would never come online again. With great effort he forced himself to focus on his damage readout, trying to redirect as much energy as was safely possible to his self-repair systems. There was no way they would be able to mend this much damage, but at the very least they could keep him alive until a rescue was mounted…_

Who are you kidding? _some fatalistic voice in the back of his CPU pointed out. _There's not going to be a rescue. This isn't a kidnapping. Megatron's not going to hold you and the others for ransom. This is an ambush – and you're not going to get off this ship alive…

_He squelched that voice and forced all his energy to the task at hand. No… they'd come too far to give up now. There had to be a way… there was always a way…_

_His attention was drifting. He felt light-headed, as if a power line to his CPU had been cut. He couldn't seem to focus on the ever-lengthening scroll of his damage readout, and his processor couldn't make sense out of the array of glyphs and symbols. Terror lanced through his spark at that, and he struggled to stay alert, but it was useless. His hold on consciousness was slowly but steadily slipping away._

_The damage readout faded, to be replaced by… a light? Dim but steady, it seemed to beckon to him, to soothe him and encourage him to let go… to let the inevitable happen…_

No! _he raged, fighting to bring the readout back up. _This can't be happening! I refuse to join the Well of All Sparks! Not now! There's too much I need to do! The Autobots need me!

_The light pulsed once, slowly brightening. Something filled his spark and CPU at that moment – not exactly a voice, but more of a presence, a consciousness that communicated through pure thought and emotion. An overwhelming sense of acceptance filled Ratchet, a feeling that all beings must face their end at some point, and that to fight it was futile. There would be others to continue where the medic had left off, and after all he had accomplished and sacrificed, he deserved a final rest._

Fraggit, I can rest after the war is over! Please… I have to keep going! Optimus Prime needs me, the Autobots need me… I can't let this be the end. There's still so much we need to do…

_The emotions filling his spark shifted, regret coloring the presence in his CPU. What he requested was possible… but it would come at a price. Ratchet would be allowed to continue living, but he may not be happy with the results. In the end, he might wish he had gone on to join the Well instead…_

I don't care! _he railed, simply relieved to even have an option to continue living. _I'll do whatever it takes! Just don't take my spark!

_A burst of feeling… almost of amusement. Ratchet had no idea what he was asking… but his request would be granted. It would be… interesting… to see what he made of this situation._

I'm used to dealing with impossible situations, _Ratchet replied. _What about the others?

_Surprise. What about them?_

You can't spare me and let them die… you have to help them too!

_Confusion. Hesitation. The others had gone peacefully. Well, maybe not peacefully, but they had accepted their fates in the end. What right did Ratchet have to dictate whether or not they passed on to the Well of All Sparks?_

Please… don't let them go. Give them another chance.

_Resignation, tinged with frustration. If that was truly what Ratchet wanted, he would get it. But as this had been the medic's idea, it would also be his responsibility. Should the others not be happy with their rescue, it would be on the medic's head._

I'll take the blame. Do we have a deal?

_Thoughtfulness, then acquiescence. They had a deal. _

_A bolt of pain shot through Ratchet's chassis, as if he had just grabbed a live power cable. His vision flickered once, then blacked out._

* * *

"Wake up!"

Conrad groaned, the shout forcibly dragging him out of a weird, rather hazy dream. Without bothering to extricate his head from under the covers, he slid a hand out from under the blankets, grabbed a pillow, and smashed it down over his ears to drown it out.

"Get up, Conner." The speaker was actually in his bedroom now, waiting at the door. "You're going to be late for work."

He half-spoke, half-groaned a few words that were muffled by the layers of cloth and down.

"I can't understand a word you're saying."

"I said lemmie call in sick!" he shouted.

"You've used up all your sick days."

"Then lemmie call in dead!"

"Conrad Lewis Hawkins, come ON!" And the speaker grabbed the covers and gave a swift yank.

Conrad flinched as the blankets whipped off the bed. He curled up and clamped the pillow tighter over his head, as if by hiding his head he could cover the rest of his body as well.

"Don't wanna go to work today," he groaned.

"Neither do I. But the bills don't pay themselves. Up and at 'em, Conner. I left some breakfast for you."

He finally pushed the pillow aside and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He knew he couldn't put off the inevitable – he was out of sick days thanks to a nasty flu-bug earlier this year, and he really couldn't afford to miss another day of work. That didn't mean he had to like it, especially given that he'd been up most of the night practicing with the band.

"And from now on band practice gets over at midnight sharp," the speaker went on, as if reading his mind. "No exceptions. I'll turn the power off on you if it happens again."

"C'mon, Mom…" he protested.

"Don't 'c'mon' me. The neighbors have threatened to call the police if it keeps up."

"Did you tell them we'll cut band practice off early if they shut their yappy dog up?"

His mom snorted, as if trying not to laugh. "Very cute. I'm off to work. I'll call if it's going to be another late night, okay?"

"All right. Don't kill anyone."

"And you don't piss anyone off." She ruffled his hair before walking out. Under normal circumstances he might have protested the overly motherly gesture, but first thing in the morning he was generally too groggy to care.

Once he was sure he was awake enough to be able to stand without falling over, he got up and headed for the bathroom. Maybe he did need to cut band practice off early next time, if it was going to leave him this fuzzy in the mornings. Still, Dragonglass didn't get a chance to practice often due to conflicting schedules, and late nights were often the best way to make the most of the nights they did have.

As he showered, he tried to recall whatever it was he'd dreamed about last night… or this morning, if one wanted to get technical. Something about robots… a couple of white ones and a red one and a big silver one… and a lot of shooting and smoke and screaming on top of it all. Weird, he hadn't seen anything science-fiction-y lately. Maybe this was his subconscious paying him back for staring at video games so much, though he couldn't remember any video games he'd sold in the last couple of weeks that featured fighting robots.

Ah well. Maybe he'd share it with Zack at work. He could try to help him interpret it, or at least get a laugh out of it.

He showered and shaved quickly, then headed back to his room to get dressed. Mom had already left, meaning it was just him and the dog now until he left for work. Ever since the divorce five years ago it had just been the three of them – "three against the world," Mom would say with a laugh. And while they got on each other's nerves sometimes, he didn't mind the living arrangement all that much. It might have embarrassed him a few years ago, but thanks to the recession a twenty-one-year-old still living with his parents wasn't nearly as weird as it used to be. At least, that was his experience.

Not that he hadn't had a few opportunities come up to move out. Zack and Fielding had both offered him a place to crash at their places, and he'd even spent the night a couple of times at one place or the other. And Angela kept hinting that maybe they should get serious about their relationship and move in together. But in the end, he'd opted to stay home.

His decision wasn't because he was sure his band-mates would drive him nuts if they lived together, though there was that too. Nor was he commitment-shy… he didn't think, anyhow. But in a lot of ways he felt bad about abandoning his mom. They'd been through a lot over the years, and he hated the thought of leaving her alone. Zack had teased him about being a mama's boy for that, but it usually only took a few good swats up the back of the head for him to quit.

He took a moment to inspect himself in the mirror before heading out. Black work pants, green polo with silver nametag, and a green baseball cap that had been decorated to look like a duck's head. Dorky, he knew, but since when were work uniforms the epitome of high fashion?

"Okay, I'm off," he announced. "Be good, Gandalf."

The old Mastiff-Malamute mix looked up from the couch, thumped his tail once, then went back to sleep. Named for his mom's favorite character from her favorite book series, he was getting on in years and spent most of his time lounging around getting hair everywhere. Telling him to be good was like telling a rock to hold still – he just didn't have the energy to get into mischief anymore.

Mom had left a plate of toast, sausage, and eggs in the microwave for him, and he hurriedly slapped them together in a breakfast sandwich before heading out the door. He couldn't afford a car of his own, so he normally biked to work. And he'd gotten pretty adept at being able to ride a bike and eat at the same time. It enabled him to sleep in for just a few extra minutes in the morning.

The ride to Angry Duck Games took all of ten minutes, five if he was in an extreme hurry. A new-and-used video game store set in a strip mall in Provo, Utah, it was rather infamous for its mascot and namesake, a cranky one-winged duck that nested by the strip mall and frequently chased customers to and from their cars. Despite this nuisance – or perhaps because of it – it was one of the more popular video game stores in the area.

Conrad pulled up to the employee entrance behind the store and chained his bike to a pipe, then headed inside. Already he could hear Mr. Jakobson chewing out some employee or other over a screwed-up transaction, and with a slight roll of his eyes he went to clock in and take his place at the counter. Another lovely day in the neighborhood, it would seem.

* * *

"So I tell this lady that I'm sorry, I can't give her a refund, but she keeps giving me grief," Zack grumbled, not looking up from layering Cheese Whiz on his tuna sandwich. "I gave her our usual song and dance about how we can't give refunds on opened merchandise unless it's defective, but she's all threatening to call the manager on us. Like it's my fault she didn't read the damn package or do the damn research on the game. Sorry, Fielding."

"'Sokay," Fielding replied, chuckling.

Conrad made a sympathetic noise as he restocked a display of _Mists of Panderia _boxes nearby. Technically employees were supposed to eat their lunches in the storage room in the back, but during dead times the rule pretty much went ignored. Since no one had stopped by for half an hour, Zack had judged it safe to eat at the cashier counter, and the other employees were hanging around to talk and kill time between customers.

"Isn't _Portal 2 _for Xbox and Playstation only?" asked Angela.

"Yeah, and PC," Fielding added. "Five minutes on Google'll tell you that."

"Some people don't like to Google," Conrad pointed out. "Or read the box, apparently. Or check the shelf – unless someone screwed up putting away stock or stuck the game back in the wrong area, _Portal _shouldn't even be with the Wii games."

"I know, right?" Zack muttered. Satisfied with the amount of cheese on his sandwich, he set the can aside and closed the sandwich. "But yeah, she threatened to call Mr. Jakobson over it. I told her go for it."

Angela winced. "Aren't you afraid you'll get your pay docked for that?"

"Are you kidding?" Conrad laughed. "Mr. Jakobson doesn't put up with stupidity from anybody, and that includes customers as well as employees. He's a tough boss, but he's fair. And he doesn't blindly stick to 'customer is always right' either. He probably told the lady to do the damn research next time. Sorry, Fielding."

"You guys don't have to apologize every time you swear, you know," Fielding reminded.

"Well, we know you don't like to hear it, but it slips out sometimes," Conrad pointed out.

"Yeah, but still, I'm not going to bite your head off for it."

"Like your mouth would fit over his big head," Zack teased. "But yeah, she stormed off in a big huff. Howard got her back for me, though – chased her across the parking lot. You could hear her scream from the back of the store."

"Good duckie!" Angela laughed.

Conrad just grinned. The four employees who made up the main staff of Angry Duck Games, not to mention the members of the band Dragonglass, were an interesting crew – Conrad Hawkins and Zachary Bowen as day shift, and Fielding Pratt and Angela Zahradnicek as night shift, though the latter two occasionally popped in during the day to make small talk. But Conrad couldn't have asked for a better set of friends. Sure, their differences occasionally led to minor clashes, and he couldn't deny that they got on his nerves from time to time. But hey, no friendship was perfect.

Conrad had been fresh out of high school when he'd entered the game store three years ago, desperate for a job. Fielding, who had been manning the register at the time, had made sympathetic small talk with him but told him he couldn't promise anything, and Conrad had just picked up a job application and turned to go when Mr. Jakobsen had walked in. As far as he could recall, the rest of the conversation had gone something along the following lines:

"I'm here to apply for the day clerk position, sir-"

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"Uh… no?"

"Good, that saves me fifty bucks on a background check. Go clock in while I get your paperwork."

And from that point onward, Zack, Fielding, and Angela had simply treated him as if he were family. They had laughed and joked together, played video games together during slow times, and even formed the band when they had all discovered their mutual love for music as well as gaming, though Dragonglass got together to practice so infrequently that they only knew about two songs so far. Still, they were probably the only band based out of a video game store in all of Utah, so at least they could say they held one record.

Of his three co-workers, Zack probably fit the stereotypical "gamer" mold the best. While all four of them still lived with one or both of their parents, Zack seemed to take particular pride in being a basement-dwelling geek, much to the consternation of his lawyer dad. He was an endless source of quotes from weird and obscure movies, information on various new and classic video games, and other random tidbits. It had been his idea to name the duck that lived outside the store, and he had even forced the others to sit down and watch the movie that was Howard the Duck's namesake with him, a fact that Conrad still hadn't forgiven him for.

In contrast to Zack's strange ways, Fielding was almost normal. The oldest child of a rather large Mormon family, he had returned from a religious mission in Africa three years ago and was still unsure where he wanted to go with his life. By day he attended classes at nearby BYU, getting a business degree mostly to appease his parents, and by night he worked the game store and helped the others out with the band. He was a level-headed sort, rarely getting upset with the others even when they forgot themselves and slipped into swearing around him.

Angela, despite being the sole female of the group, fit in remarkably well with the guys. It helped that she shared many of their same interests – video games, fantasy and science fiction movies, random 80s trivia, and the like. Of the four of them, she was the most dedicated to getting the band off the ground and constantly pushed them to rearrange their schedules to squeeze in more practice hours. She even wrote songs in her spare time, and Conrad had to admit that she had a remarkable gift for music. Her dream was to build Dragonglass up to the point where they could release a full album, and maybe earn a spot as an opener band for a larger concert.

"So when's the next band practice?" asked Conrad. "I'm free Sunday."

"Uh-uh," Zack grunted through a mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed and clarified. "Fielding's unavailable Sundays, remember?"

"Can't you practice at night?" Conrad asked. "I mean, come on, it's not like you have church meetings at night."

"My parents would kill me if they found out," Fielding protested. "They already don't like me being in the band, and I don't want to push my luck too much. What about a day session sometime?"

"I have my second job every other day this week," Angela pointed out. "And my boss'll get suspicious if I call in sick again."

"Your boss?" Zack teased. "Don't you mean your dad?"

"Same thing," she retorted. Angela's parents owned a bookstore ten blocks away, and she was pretty much required to work a shift there if she wanted to continue living at home. They fully expected her to take over the store when they retired, too, but she was adamantly against the idea and wanted to focus on her music.

"Maybe we should skip practice this week," Fielding suggested. "It sounds like it's not going to work into our schedules."

"Come on, guys, we have to get serious about practicing," Angela insisted. "We're never going to get better if we don't practice. And I want us to be able to play more than the two songs."

"Let's just cover some Journey songs and call it a day," suggested Zack teasingly.

"No, Zack," Angela insisted.

"Hey, what's wrong with Journey?" Zack demanded. "Who doesn't love Journey? _Oh, just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world…"_

"Anyone doing anything Friday night?" asked Conrad, cutting Zack off before he could annoy Angela into hitting him. "We can maybe get together for an hour or two after the store closes."

"Sounds good to me," Zack replied.

"Don't you have DnD that night, though?" asked Fielding.

"Eh, the group can live without their Dragonkin Paladin for a day," Zack pointed out. "'Rad, we can still use your guys' garage, right?"

"Yeah, but we have to be done by midnight," Conrad replied. "Neighbors threatened to call the cops on us again."

"Sucks," Zack grumbled. "You've got touchy neighbors, I swear. The only time my neighbors called the cops on me is when I painted a 'Con symbol on the hood of my truck. Guess they didn't have a sense of humor."

"You didn't!" Angela gasped, eyes wide.

"Dude, that's like painting a swastika on your door," said Fielding. "It's a wonder they didn't call the military on you too!"

"Oh come on, it's just a symbol," Zack grumbled. "It's edgy, right? Our band's not gonna get attention if we don't push the boundaries a little."

"Don't go pinning your stupidity on the band," Angela snapped.

"Hey, we talk about using my truck to get to the gigs," Zack pointed out. "That makes it the band vehicle. And I don't get what all the fuss is about. Like real Decepticons would attack Provo – be a hell of a waste of time for them. Sorry, Fielding."

"I don't mind edgy, but I thought bands usually got piercings in weird places or wrote songs about the ghetto if they wanted to be edgy," Conrad pointed out. "They don't claim they're with al-Queda or put symbols for genocidal alien species on their tour buses."

"Provo doesn't have a ghetto, and nobody here has the guts to get a piercing," Zack replied. "So I'm workin' with what we got. And nobody's gonna mistake my POS truck for a 'Con, right?"

"Has anyone even seen a Decepticon in Provo?" Angela wondered. "Or an Autobot, for that matter."

"Not that I can remember," Fielding replied. "I haven't seen one, and I've lived here all my life."

"Saw an Autobot when I lived in New York, but that doesn't count," Zack put in.

"I MIGHT have seen one," Conrad volunteered.

"Might?" Angela repeated.

"Well, I don't know if it was or not," he confessed. "It was a car that looked a lot like that Jazz one. It didn't seem to have a driver, but I didn't get a good enough look to be sure. It was in a hurry, wherever it was going."

"Just be glad he didn't get a look at your truck while he was here," Angela told Zack, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "He might have taken a potshot at it and you'd be without a ride."

"Ow," Zack griped, though that punch couldn't have hurt that much. "And don't worry, no one's taking shots at my truck anymore. Dad flipped his lid and made me take the symbol off."

"Someone ELSE is going to flip more than his lid if you don't get back to work, Bowen!"

All four employees jumped and whirled as Mr. Jakobsen stormed into the store. Short and stocky, with a bushy gray mustache quite at odds with his shiny bald scalp and forearms covered in tattoos, the owner of Angry Duck Games looked and acted more like a diminutive drill sergeant than a video game store clerk. He didn't take kindly to his employees sitting around idle, even during slow times, and he wasn't above berating a clerk for mishandling a transaction or dropping and breaking an expensive game or console. At the same time, though, he didn't tolerate nonsense from customers and was quick to call them on their BS if they tried to wheedle their way past store policy or treat his employees like dirt. That alone made his temper worth tolerating.

"Hawkins, Bowen, back to work," Mr. Jakobsen snapped. "Pratt, Zee, I thought I told you to stop hanging around the store if you're not on the clock. I'm not paying you overtime."

"Sir, yes sir," Angela muttered, more annoyed by the nickname of "Zee" than by the order – Mr. Jakobsen had long ago given up trying to pronounce her last name and, instead of calling her "Angela," referred to her as Zee. She tolerated it from their boss, but was not above whapping any of the guys who tried calling her that.

"Let's get this place straightened up," Mr. Jakobsen went on, grabbing a roll of paper towels and tossing them Zack's way. "That includes wiping off the counter where you had lunch, Bowen – and don't give me that look, I'm not stupid. I know you have your lunches up front while I'm not watching – someone get the phone!"

"I got it," Conrad announced, grabbing for the receiver before it could hit the third ring, a heinous crime as far as Mr. Jakobsen was concerned. "Angry Duck Games, how can I help you?"

"Conner?"

"Oh, hi Mom. Can you call back? Mr. Jakobsen's on a roll today..."

"Conner, please, tell your boss to turn on a TV there," she cut in. The tone of her voice chilled him – she sounded as if she were holding back tears. "There's something on the news."

"Mom, are you okay?"

"I'm fine… just turn on the news."

"Okay… which channel?"

"Any."

His stomach jolted. Whatever this was, if it was on every news station…

"Mr. Jakobsen?"

"What?" the owner griped, turning to glare at him.

"I just got a call… they say to turn on the news. Something big's happening."

"What's big and happening?"

"I dunno, but it's on all the channels I guess."

"All the channels?" repeated Mr. Jakobsen. "Nothin's gonna hit every channel unless it's a terrorist attack or somethin'… aw, hell, no." He rushed to the big-screen TV where they normally let customers try out demos of new games.

"This isn't another 9/11, is it?" asked Fielding, going pale.

"We'll find out in a minute," Mr. Jakobsen replied, and stepped back as the screen brightened, revealing a scene that might have been just another video-game cut scene had it not also been emblazoned with the logo of a local news station. Mr. Jakobsen let out a low string of curse words, Angela gave a gasp that was nearly a shriek, and Fielding's face went even paler.

"Holy shit," breathed Zack. "Speaking of Autobots…"

Conrad opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Not quite 9/11… but surely bad enough. Autobot City, the stronghold of the beings who had been protecting their planet for so many years, was under attack.


	2. Chapter 2

Awareness returned slowly for Ratchet, as if he were swimming up from the blackest depths of the ocean. He felt disconnected, as if his very spark were free of his body and was floating through the emptiness of space itself. It was so tempting to just let himself drift, to simply immerse himself in the most basic sensation of all – that of merely being alive, of sheer existence – but he forced himself to fight for total consciousness. Instinct warned him that if he quit fighting, he would lose his fragile grip on life itself.

Alive… he was alive. As he slowly made his way to total awareness he could feel his memory returning. He was alive… and hopefully the others were too. There was only one way to find out for sure, though.

His vision was still dark, but he didn't worry about that too much at the moment. For now he simply worked on trying to bring his vital systems online. Once he was sure he wasn't going to deactivate at any moment, he would worry about his sensory systems.

Funny… he couldn't seem to access his damage readout. All efforts to bring it online were failing. That was frustrating, but if that was the worst of his problems he would take it for now. He could always do a physical assessment of his damages.

Before long, however, he realized he had a lot more to worry about than a glitchy readout. His internal systems felt all wrong – out of synch and erratic, the air intakes slower than normal, the fuel pump rate too fast. And everything felt weird… squishy, for lack of a better term, as if his internals were filled with mud. Had they crashed into the lake near Autobot City? That was the only reason he could think of that he could be feeling this way.

Finally he tried to bring his sensors online. The results were rather mixed – colors swam before him, and muddled voices filled his audials. His tactile sensors weren't working at all, and that disturbed him the most. Damaged optics or audials could be a result of damaged sensors, but a widespread tactile-sensor failure generally meant CPU damage…

"…are the Autobots gonna do about this?"

That voice, the first clear sound to reach his CPU, wasn't at all familiar. It was female, and sounded human rather than Cybertronian. Carly? No, too young…

"I dunno." That voice was closer, male, but still human and unfamiliar. "Think they'll call on the military for help?"

"Are you kidding?" a third voice demanded. "The military can't do shit about Decepticons – sorry, Pratt. Not without getting pasted."

"This is just like 9/11," a fourth voice murmured… and despite being softer in volume, it seemed to be coming from very close by… almost from his own body…

_All right, what the frag is going on here? _Ratchet thought irritably, and forced his vision to focus.

This wasn't the shuttle. This wasn't even Autobot City. He was surrounded by humans – two young men, a young woman, and an older bald man with a bushy mustache. All were staring at a television screen with varying expressions of horror and shock, completely ignoring the Autobot in their midst. And most weirdly of all, the four of them were his size or at least fairly close to it.

_What in the… _This didn't make sense. He'd never seen these humans before. His surroundings were completely unfamiliar – some sort of store, it looked like, though what it sold he couldn't tell at the moment. If Primus or the Allspark or whatever had allowed him to continue living had fulfilled its end of the bargain, why had it brought him to life in such a bizarre locale? Were the powers that be actively trying to make his life more difficult? Did Primus have Sideswipe's sense of humor or something?

His vision lurched, and he felt himself moving closer to the screen. With a jolt, he realized what he was looking at – Autobot City, under attack. Laser fire and missiles rained down on the city, punching holes in the buildings and felling mechs right and left. Even as he watched, a Seeker's missile caught Wheeljack in the chest. The scientist reeled back, dropping the cannon he had been holding, his optics bright with horror before going dark. It seemed to take an eternity for him to crumple to the ground, his armor dimming to gray, smoke and fluids pouring from his chest.

_NO!_

The terrible events on the screen continued to play out, oblivious to his cry of horror. More shots punched into Wheeljack's body, as if whoever had shot him down was determined to ensure he stayed dead. When the hail of laser fire finally ended Springer dashed out, grabbing the deactivated scientist and dragging him away. A human voice was rambling over the events, some sort of news announcer, but the words ceased to make sense to Ratchet as he grappled to comprehend what he had just seen. His best friend, his comrade, cut down by the Decepticons…

_No! No, this can't be happening! No!_

"Did you say something, Zack?" That was the closest voice again, the one that seemed to be coming from his own mouth.

"Huh?" A skinny young man with hair the color of cardboard and a bad case of post-adolescent acne turned to regard him. "No, why?"

"I thought I heard… no, never mind." His vision jostled as if he were shaking his head in a nugatory gesture. "Guess this is just getting to me is all."

"I shouldn't be so worried about this," a young woman with long red hair and glasses said softly. "I mean, it's not even our own race that's being affected, let alone our state. So why do I feel so… scared?"

"'Cause you're a decent human being is why," the older man noted, sounding as if he were trying to keep a gruff demeanor to mask his own emotions. "And 'cause it could very well be us next if they blow Autobot City up. They wipe out the Autobots, what's to stop them from moving in on Washington DC or the Pentagon?"

"Shit, it really is 9/11 all over again," the one called Zack muttered. "Sorry, Fielding."

Another young man with blond hair and dark-framed glasses waved him off. "It's fine. Mr. Jakobson… should we even keep the store open? I don't think we're going to get many people today."

The older man snorted. "We stay open. Whether or not people come in. This is a bad thing, but life goes on regardless." His expression softened slightly. "If you don't think you're able to keep working, though, go ahead and go home. I won't dock your pay."

No one seemed willing to take him up on the offer, however – they just continued to stare at the screen. Ratchet wanted to look away, to tear his gaze from the horrible events, but he couldn't seem to move his head… if it was even his head anymore. He couldn't control this body at all, couldn't even twitch a servo…

_Muscle, _he corrected himself. _Twitch a muscle. _The realization of where he'd ended up was finally sinking in – he was stuck in a human body. Not even his own human body, but someone else's. Another spark or soul or whatever humans had in place of it inhabited this body, and somehow he doubted this body's owner would be at all willing to give it up to him.

_Primus! _he raged. _You've got the sickest sense of humor, I swear!_

His vision rocked violently as his "host," for lack of a better term, shook his head. "Am I the only one hearing things?"

"I'm hearing the TV," Zack pointed out. "Why, you hearing something else?"

"No, just… just imagining things, I guess."

"Maybe you need to go home, 'Rad," the girl advised him. "Sounds like this is really getting to you."

"I'm fine," his host assured her. "Really. This is bad, yeah, but it's not like I've got family in Autobot City. I'll be okay."

"Go home, Hawkins," Mr. Jakobson barked. "Won't have you working here if you're not feeling sharp. I'll put you down as having worked a whole day."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Don't think we're going to be too busy anyhow. Everyone's at home glued to their TVs right now, I'll bet."

"Thank you, sir." Ratchet felt his body turn, and a sudden warmth and pressure registered in his tactile sensors – no, nerves, he corrected himself – as the girl hugged his host.

"Be careful," she urged him. "Ride safe."

"I will, Angie," he promised.

Somehow, with great effort, Ratchet managed to black out his own vision, disconnecting himself from his host's eyes. Evidently that didn't affect the human's own sight, seeing as he hadn't suddenly crashed into anything. But it gave Ratchet a much-needed opportunity to think without distraction, and to come to terms with what had just happened… and more importantly, what to do about it.

He had absolutely no idea how this could have happened. There was no precedent for this kind of situation – when a mech's spark snuffed out, it was generally believed to be gone for good, or one with the Well of All Sparks if one believed in that. There had never been a reported case of a mech's body dying but their spark living on in another creature. Not before now, at any rate… though it seemed he wasn't exactly in a position to report this case.

If this was Primus' way of fulfilling his bargain with him, it was a sorry way to fill it as far as he was concerned. He'd wanted to continue living so he could contribute to the Autobot cause, not languish as a bundle of synapses in the brain of a human! Now he was trapped in a flesh carcass far from Autobot City, powerless to fight or repair or do anything to aid his comrades…

His comrades… Primus had vowed that the others would live on as well. But if so, did that mean they were stuck in this situation as well? Or was he the one that would suffer from trying to avoid fate, and the others would continue their lives while he was stuck as some kind of brain parasite?

The human cursed, and a flash of pain shot through their shared nerves as something nipped his ankle. Ratchet managed to connect himself back to the human's sight in time to see a mallard duck at his host's feet, flapping its single wing and making a weird rasping noise. Funny, he thought ducks quacked instead of rasping or growling… but what did he know, Hound was the big nature expert…

"Back off, Howard," his host ordered. "I got enough problems without you going psycho on me."

The duck rasped again and made to bite his foot, but the human danced out of the way. Grabbing at a bike chained to the side of the building, he moved to put it between himself and his feathered attacker while he fumbled with the chain.

_If only I could get in touch with him, _Ratchet thought. _Talk to him. At the very least, he deserves to know he has someone sharing mind space with him._

The human paused, and for a moment Ratchet wondered if he'd somehow made contact. But he just shook his head and went back to undoing the bike lock. Discouraged, he pulled himself away from the young man's sight so he could think. At least that was easier to do this time… and at least it gave him some sort of control over his current situation.

_I'm trapped, _he thought darkly. _Trapped in an organic body, and with no control over it… and it doesn't even seem like I can communicate with its owner. I don't even know how far I am from Autobot City, though judging by what these humans say it's nowhere close to here. And the Autobots are dying… Wheeljack's gone, and I don't know who else has already fallen… and there's nothing I can do about it._

He felt his host's body lurch into motion – he must have gotten his bike unchained and was setting off for home, wherever that was. At least someone here knew what to do next. He was completely adrift in more ways than one – without a body, without a plan, without any way to get out of this nightmare scenario and back to where he was needed the most.

_I have no mouth, and I must scream. _It was a human turn of phrase, one that Wheeljack had picked up from one of those science fiction books he was always browsing in his spare time. Human phrase or not, Ratchet couldn't think of a more appropriate way to sum up his situation. He needed to do something, anything, to save the Autobot cause… and he was powerless to do more than watch as all they had fought so hard to build crumbled apart around him.

* * *

Conrad braked the bike just enough to coast to a stop in front of the house. Even from outside, he could hear Gandalf raising a racket, pawing at the front window and howling his joy at one of his "pack" coming home. Despite being old and lazy, he still went into near hysterics of ecstasy whenever he or Mom came home from work, as if he thought they'd left him forever.

"I'm coming in, ya big Wookie reject!" Conrad shouted, digging in his pocket for his house key. "Hold your shorts…"

Gandalf had no intention of holding anything – the moment Conrad got the door open he was pushing his way through, pawing at his owner's chest, licking every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

"Ugh! Get down! Sit! What have you been into, your breath reeks."

Gandalf gave him a final swipe of the tongue over his chin, the dropped back down to all fours and plodded into the living room, flopping onto the rug and settling in as if nothing had happened.

"Glad to see you too." Conrad sighed and hauled the bike into the house. The garage door was still stuck shut, so until they could get it fixed he had to get his bike in and out of the garage by taking it through the house. It was frustrating, but he supposed it beat having his bike stolen again.

Once his bike was squared away he changed out of his work clothes, then went to flop on the couch with a sigh. What a day. The Angry Duck crew had been watching the news for a few hours before he'd been sent home, unable to look away as newscasters reported on the battle at Autobot City. And part of him wanted to turn on the news now and keep getting updates, but another part of him recoiled at the thought, not wanting to take any more bad news today.

It wasn't as if he'd never known there was an alien war going on. Heck, the Autobots had been on Earth all his life, and reports of their misadventures and fights with the Decepticons popped up on the news all the time. But their war had become pretty much a fact of life by the time he was old enough to understand what was going on, and it remained an interesting but vague fact in the back of his mind for most of his life. Any mention of Decepticons popping up in New York City or launching some kind of electrical attack in Japan were just interesting enough to warrant a brief "Oh, cool" moment before his attention drifted off to something else.

But the Decepticons had never been this aggressive in their attacks before… and the fact that this attack was against not just an Autobot base, but a city that contained both Autobots and humans, made this all the more terrible. There were bound to be human fatalities in all this, and even if Conrad didn't have relatives there, he knew there would be people all over the country, possibly the world, whose lives would be affected by this. Didn't Fielding have a cousin or something that worked there? He could no longer remember…

Better not to think about it, he supposed. He pushed himself off the couch and headed for the kitchen. He'd fix himself a snack and then go find something to do so long as he was home. Maybe he'd try out that _Arkham Asylum_ game Zack had loaned him, or actually do something constructive like mow the lawn so Mom wouldn't be too upset with him being home from work early.

The latter was probably a smarter idea, though the former was definitely more appealing at the moment. It would certainly help take his mind off all this…

Something nagged at him, though. He couldn't seem to get his mind off the attack. It felt almost as if he some part of his mind was talking to itself, replaying what he'd seen on the screen. He shook his head and opened the fridge, pushing those thoughts away.

_Gone… can't believe he's gone…_

He frowned. Who was gone? Where had that thought come from? Never mind, he was hungry. He pulled out the lunchmeat and gave it a good sniff, trying to see if it was still good…

_I should have been there._

Should have been where? Well, technically he should be at work right now, but seeing as he had an unexpected half-day off he might as well enjoy it, right?

_Should have been there… I could have stopped it. Wheeljack… Prowl… Ironhide… Brawn… failed them all…_

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He recognized a couple of those names – Prowl and Ironhide were among the more famous of the Autobots – but there was no reason for him to be thinking about them right now. The news certainly hadn't listed them among the fatalities… heck, it would probably be a few weeks before a casualty list was even made available to the public, so where were these names coming from?

_Primus, this wasn't part of our deal… I thought we had a deal…_

"Damn, I need therapy," he muttered, slamming the fridge shut. "All right, what's going on? Why the hell am I hearing voices?"

Silence. Conrad waited a moment, but when no other strange thoughts were forthcoming he finally shrugged and went to deposit his armload of sandwich-makings on the table. Maybe his blood sugar was just low. In all the sudden drama at work he'd forgotten to take his lunch break…

_You can hear me after all! Thank Primus, there's a bright spot to this mess after all!_

Conrad shrieked, and the food went flying in all directions as he jumped in shock. The pickle jar shattered on the floor, spraying a good portion of the kitchen and the nearby cupboards with green juice, and the lid popped off the mayonnaise and sent blobs of white goop splattering everywhere. He didn't even bother to try to pick up the mess, just stood there in shock, trying to control his breathing.

_Well, you don't have to freak out over it. _The voice sounded annoyed now, but with a faint undertone of amusement.

"Who are you?!" Conrad shouted. "What the hell's going on here?! Why are you in my head?!"

_Primus, calm down, _the voice ordered. _You sound like Red Alert. I'm trying to establish some form of contact, not short your synapses._

"I'm hearing freaking voices and you're telling me to calm down?!" He scowled, realizing just how stupid he must look. "Why am I talking to a voice in my head?"

_Because I'm not just a voice in your head! _the voice snapped. _Calm down and listen, all right? You're not hallucinating, you're not having a breakdown, and I'm not a figment of your imagination. I'm real, even if you can't see me._

The voice wasn't any he was familiar with – gruff and gravelly, sounding a bit like Papa Smurf if he'd been smoking a couple packs a day for a few years. It wasn't any voice he'd imagined having stuck in his head. Then again, Conrad doubted many people stopped to think what the voices in their head would sound like if they had them… why was he thinking about this again? Shouldn't he be calling a doctor or something right now?

_So now that I've established what I'm not, would you sit down and listen while I explain what's going on?_

"If I start listening to and obeying a voice in my head, I'm going to end up in a psych ward," Conrad grumbled.

_Come on, at least give me the benefit of the doubt. I'm not here to hurt you. Slag, if it really bothers you to do what I say, don't sit down. But at least hear me out._

"Fine," he muttered, and he stooped to pick up the sandwich fixings. "But this had better be good." If the voice or hallucination or alien or whatever it was wanted to explain why it was there, who was he to stop it? At least his sudden bout of insanity was polite about it, it seemed.

_My name is Ratchet, _the voice explained. _I'm the Autobots' Chief Medical Officer._

"Wait, you're an Autobot?"

_Didn't I just get through saying that?_

"Right," Conrad muttered. "And I'm Justin Beiber."

_Har har. I'm serious, kid. I'm Optimus Prime's chief medic, the one in charge of keeping his troops patched up whenever they're stupid enough to get themselves shot, stabbed, blown up, or stepped on. It's a rough job, but it's a living, even if it's tempting to wring their necks instead of fix them at times._

Funny, his mom often said that about her patients at the doctor's office. "No offense, Mr. Ratchet… but I thought you'd be bigger. Being a giant robot and all."

A feeling of exasperation oozed from the voice, what Conrad guessed was the mental equivalent of a sigh. _I was shot. Decepticons ambushed our shuttle and gunned us down. I blacked out… and woke up inside your head. _

"You… woke up… inside my head."

_You have an excellent perception of the obvious, _Ratchet muttered. _That's precisely what happened. Somehow, when my spark went out in my own body, it re-ignited in yours._

Conrad dumped his armload of food on the table and sat down, trying to process what the voice had just told him. He wasn't just hallucinating – he actually had someone stuck in his head. Not just an alien or a ghost, but a giant alien robot ghost of all things. Unless he really was going crazy, which was starting to sound like the more appealing option at this point… somehow he doubted a seventy-two hour lockdown and a Thorazine drip would get rid of a ghost in his head.

He chose that moment to remember that cheesy _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ film Zack had made him watch a few months back. "You're not going to kill me and hijack my body, are you?"

If Ratchet had a nose, he might have snorted at that. _What do you take me for, a parasite? Or one of Bombshell's mind-control implants? Even if I wanted your body – and trust me, I have no intention of taking it from you – I can't do squat in here. You still control all the motor functions and sensory systems. I can shut myself off from your senses, but that's it._

He couldn't help feeling a surge of relief at that. "How'd you get in there anyhow?"

_Frag if I know. This has never happened before. Not in our recorded history._

"Great," he groaned. "So you don't even know how to get out of there?"

_If I did, do you think I'd still be in here?_

Conrad swore and kicked a pickle across the kitchen. "So I'm stuck like this?! Talking to a freaking voice in my head for the rest of my life?"

_Do you think I like this any more than you do? Trust me, the last thing I want is to be here. I should be back at Autobot City, helping with the battle there, not stuck here trying to talk sense into a hysterical human!_

"I'm not hysterical!"

_Could have fooled me._

"Oh great, you're not only a voice in my head, you're a smartass. Wonderful." He got up and stalked toward the broom closet for a mop. "My mom's going to freak when she hears about this."

_You make it sound like you're the only one not happy with this situation, _Ratchet grumbled. _It's not like I chose this. Sure, I didn't want to deactivate, but if I was going to live through that attack, I wanted to be in my own body. Not mooching off of yours like a virus or Trojan horse._

Conrad finished the cleanup of the kitchen and stalked back into the living room. "So neither of us is happy about this. I think we've established that. What am I supposed to do about it?"

Ratchet seemed to ponder that for a moment. _For now? There's not a lot I can do on my own. I'll stay out of your way as best I can, but eventually I'd like your help for a few things._

"Is this the point where you ask me to sacrifice kittens or go stomp crop circles in a field?"

_You still don't believe I'm more than a figment of your imagination, do you?_

"Well, if you suddenly started hearing a voice claiming to be an alien ghost in your head, would you believe it was telling the truth?"

Ratchet had to think about that. _To be honest, I'd probably subject myself to a virus scan first thing. You're right… and I'm sorry. This is all just a shock for me._

"I don't blame you." He was pretty floored by this himself. This kind of thing happened in bad B-movies or lame Sci-Fi channel shows, not in some suburb of Blandsville, Utah. "I suppose you want me to keep this a secret, don't you?"

_That'd probably be best for both of us. You're having a hard enough time believing this; anyone else would probably think you were having a psychotic break or something. _A pause. _One thing you can do for me right now is introduce yourself. In all this fuss, I can't remember if I've caught your name or not. Rad or something?_

"Conrad. Conrad Hawkins. My friends call me 'Rad sometimes, though."

_Conrad Hawkins… pleased to meet you. I just wish it could be under better circumstances._

"Yeah… me too. You're the first Autobot I've ever met, to be honest."

_Hopefully not the last. Do you live here alone?_

"Nope. This is really my mom's house, but she's not home right now. She's a nurse at a doctor's office here in Provo. It's just her, me, and the dog."

_I see. Provo… that's a city in the Western United States, if I'm remembering right._

"Utah. Ever been there?"

_I've passed through Utah once or twice, but never stayed long enough to visit._

"Not much to see here," Conrad confessed, going back to assembling his sandwich. "Though I remember seeing a Porsche once that I swore was an Autobot, but it was going too fast for me to be sure. That wasn't you, was it?"

_Porsche? That'll be Jazz. I'm an ambulance. Or was, I suppose… _His voice trailed off wistfully, then he quickly changed the subject. _Once you're done there, turn the television back on._

"I thought you were going to stay out of the way."

_Look, there's something terrible happening at Autobot City, _Ratchet insisted. _I've already seen too many friends die, but I have to know what's going on there. Even if I can't physically be there to help, I want to stay updated on what's going on. If it were your friends in danger, wouldn't you want the same thing?_

He couldn't argue with that, he supposed. "Human news networks aren't exactly the most reliable source of info, just to warn you. They go more for shock value than anything else."

_It's better than nothing._

Conrad picked up the sandwich and headed back to the living room, turning the TV on. "At least we won't have to channel surf to find it – every news network seems to be airing it."

_It's a disaster, of course they would all be… oh Primus, no…_

"What?" he asked, looking up at the screen… and promptly dropping his sandwich on the carpet. "Oh shit…"

The reporter currently on the screen had just cut off her report midsentence to scream in surprise as a bright red semi truck barreled past her – why she was so close to the action in the first place was anyone's guess, but that was the least of their worries at the moment. The picture jolted as the cameraman backpedaled to avoid a sudden explosion, then steadied again to show the semi unfolding into the familiar figure of Optimus Prime. A silver figure – Decepticon by the look of it – bellowed something rendered unintelligible by the microphone, answered by something about "one shall fall" from Optimus before the two mechs laid into each other, fists flying, metal thundering with each blow.

Under normal circumstances, Conrad might have thought this to be the coolest thing he'd ever seen. But sheer horror flooded his mind, doubtless from Ratchet's corner of his brain. He felt an overwhelming urge to rush in and help, even though thousands of miles separated him from the fighting, even though he didn't even have the physical means to do much more than watch…

_Optimus, no! _Ratchet screamed. _Look out!_

The figures onscreen had no way of hearing him. Conrad and Ratchet could only stare as Prime took a blade to the gut, as fists and blaster bolts found their marks. When the two combatants finally staggered apart, each looked as if they'd just been through a wrecking yard. The silver one was on his hands and knees, dripping oil or some other fluid from various gashes and cracks, and Prime could barely keep to his feet as he aimed a gun at the fallen Decepticon.

"Who's that?" Conrad asked, keeping his voice a whisper.

_Megatron, _Ratchet replied softly, a note of relief in his voice. _Leader of the Decepticons. Is it over… is it finally over?_

"Maybe," Conrad murmured. He didn't have to be an expert in Autobot/Decepticon relations to know what the "it" was that Ratchet referred to – if Megatron was the leader of the opposing faction, then Prime holding him at gunpoint was the equivalent of capturing Saddam Hussein or the strike that killed Osama bin Laden. It might not end the war for the Autobots, but it would be a massive step in the right direction…

Something on the screen caught his eye, and he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. "There's a gun on the ground! Right in front of him!"

_Where… oh slag! Prime, shoot! Now!_

Even if Prime could have heard him, it was too late. A red Autobot dashed onto the screen at that moment, grabbing for the gun as if to get it out of Megatron's reach. His lunge missed, and instead Megatron snatched the Autobot and dragged him close, using him as a living shield as he picked up the gun for himself. Prime hesitated, obviously not wanting to take a shot and risk the other Autobot's life… and that was all the opening Megatron needed.

Conrad gave a shout of his own as Prime rocked back, blast after blast slamming into his body. The cameraman lowered the camera at that moment and took off running, as if deciding he'd had enough and was out of there, but the image was seared in Conrad's memory. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to shut it out. It was no use – it kept replaying in his head, like a shock film stuck on repeat.

_PRIME! _

Ratchet's cry rang through his head, drowning out all other thought. Splitting pain rocked through his skull, making him reel back. Emotions roiled through him – fear, horror, shock, anger, and a black despair that threatened to consume him…

He was vaguely aware of Gandalf whining and barking worriedly, of the TV continuing to drone in the background… then blackness took over.

* * *

"…ner? Conner!"

"Mmph?" That wasn't Ratchet's voice… it sounded more like Mom. Morning already? He grunted and reached out to pull the covers over his head, but he couldn't seem to find them…

Then memory came rushing back, and he opened his eyes. He was sprawled out on the living room floor, his mom and Gandalf both hovering worriedly over him.

"Oh geez, I must have passed out," he groaned, and went to push himself upright. "Embarassing…"

"Hold still and let me check your pulse!" Mom ordered, picking his hand up and placing her fingers on his wrist. "How are you feeling? Dizzy? Light-headed? Think you might have a fever?"

"Mom!" he shouted, trying to pull his hand away. "Don't freak out, okay? I'm not having a stroke or a heart attack, I just… probably stood up too fast or something…"

"I just want to make sure it's nothing serious," she fretted. "What happened?"

"Mr. Jakobson sent me home early… wasn't feeling too well." He rubbed his temples, grimacing as his head throbbed from Ratchet's earlier scream. "I came home, turned on the news… saw Prime get shot."

"Oh dear… maybe the shock of seeing that make you pass out." She patted his shoulder. "Just sit tight and I'll get you some water."

"I'm fine!" he insisted. "I've seen a lot worse than a robot getting shot in video games. Why would it bother me so much now?"

"Because there's a big difference between pixels on a screen and the real thing," she insisted, hurrying into the kitchen. "Feeling light-headed at all?"

"Not really." His head was still killing him, but he elected not to mention it – the last thing he wanted at the moment was her fussing over him. He also decided it wouldn't be smart to tell her he had the ghost of a giant robot stuck in his head. Coming home to find him passed out on the floor was enough of a shock for her – he didn't want her thinking he belonged in a psych ward on top of that.

Come to think of it, Ratchet was being awfully quiet at the moment. Had this whole experienced chased him out of his body for good? Somehow he doubted it.

Mom handed him a glass of water before sitting on the couch to pull off her shoes. "Let me know if you feel dizzy or nauseous or anything, okay?"

"Geez, a guy can't pass out without his mom freaking out over it?" he groaned.

She only smiled at that. "I'm your mom. It's my job to worry about you. Did the news report anything else about… you know?"

"I dunno, I was unconscious for a lot of it." He chanced a glance at the TV.

What he saw made him wish he hadn't looked. The grim face of a news correspondent filled the screen, and as if he somehow sensed he now had Conrad's attention he began his announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this just in from Autobot City, site of the recent Decepticon attack. Terrible news – Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, was killed in action."


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed like eons ago that Ratchet had resisted the pull of the Well of All Sparks, chewing the entity out and insisting he wasn't done living yet. Now he wished he had simply given in to the inevitable, let it take his spark and pull him from this life.

In response to Optimus Prime's death he had pulled himself free from Conrad's physical senses, plunging himself into darkness and silence. For hours he had remained there, railing at the injustice of it all, cursing himself for being unavailable when Prime had needed him the most. And when he had screamed himself into exhaustion, he simply let go, letting himself drift, only the barest connection to his human host's emotions reminding him that he was still alive and aware.

_I should have been there, _he thought despairingly. _It should have been me. Prime needed me, and I let him down… I let them all down… should have been there…_

The memory of his conversation – if such a strange exchange of emotions and thoughts could properly be called a conversation – with the Well seemed distant and hazy, like a memory of a dream. And yet it haunted him now. The Well's warning, a mere rush of pure thought, stung him – its warning that he may not like what he wished for, and that he would face consequences for the pact he had struck. At the time he hadn't cared… but now that he felt its price, he found it unbearable.

_Is this to be my punishment then? To live, but to stand by and watch as everything I've fought for, everything I care about, dies and crumbles away? If my body is dead, is this my hell?_

If the Well heard him, it remained silent. Just as well – had it responded to his questioning he probably would have unleashed a withering tirade against it. If this was Primus' idea of teaching him a lesson, or of amusing himself at his expense, then he didn't think too highly of the deity at this point. Why couldn't he have simply protected Prime, or restored Ratchet to a proper body so he could actually DO something to help? Why did he play these games?

_Why me? Why am I subjected to this? Is it because I tried to cheat death? Is this what happens whenever someone tries to fight their fate? Or is it something else I did…_

A sudden surge of emotion, but not his own… and not Conrad's either. A vast mind seemed to touch his for a fraction of a second, but the sheer power and size and complexity of it threatened to overwhelm him in that moment. As if from far away he could feel a burst of fear from the human, as if he, too, felt what Ratchet was experiencing.

The mind withdrew as quickly as it had reached out, leaving Ratchet alone again. But the single thought it had pulsed across their connection still rang in his mind, settling itself into one simple phrase – _my ways are not your ways._

_Whatever that's supposed to mean, _Ratchet thought grouchily. He had no idea what whoever had spoken to him – Primus, the Well, some other powerful but unknown entity – was trying to accomplish, but it had served to snap him out of his funk. He supposed that was worth something, even if it had given him something incomprehensible to ponder in the meantime.

One thing was for sure – he would get nothing accomplished wallowing in self-pity and despair. He might be stuck without a body, but his mind was working just fine. And he might be too late to stop the worst from happening… but if he could get back to the Autobots somehow, perhaps he could do something to mend some of the damage. At the very least, he could help them pick up the pieces, and provide some comfort to friends who had survived the attack.

Of course, all of that hinged on convincing the human to help him. That would take some doing – he was already gathering that Conrad was a stubborn kid, caring more about his own issues than about the Autobots. He supposed that was understandable – one would always worry more about events that affected one's own life and kind than about those that affected someone or something unrelated. That didn't make it any less frustrating, however.

_The kid has better instincts, _Ratchet thought. _The trick is in appealing to them._

Finally he touched Conrad's mind again, opening himself to his sight and hearing. He found himself looking into a mirror through somewhat fuzzy optics – eyes, he corrected himself – staring at what must be Conrad's reflection.

_Ugh._

"Good morning to you too," Conrad muttered, reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair. "So it wasn't all a dream."

_Believe me, I wish it was, _Ratchet remarked. _What happened to you?_

"Night happened," he replied, voice a little slurred and making the medic realize Conrad had just woken up. "Trust me, there's few things uglier on this planet than a human who's just gotten up in the morning."

_I've seen worse, _Ratchet replied. Truth be told, while he wasn't a judge of what humans considered good-looking, Conrad certainly wasn't the ugliest creature he'd ever seen. Black-haired and gray-eyed, he looked rather rumpled and bleary-eyed from what must have been a restless night's sleep, and short, bristly hair covered his cheeks. Still, at least he wasn't a Dr. Arkeville or a Lord Chumley, he supposed.

"You gonna watch while I get ready for today?" asked Conrad.

_Sure, why not. _At the very least, this would be educational, he supposed.

"Um… could you at least not look while I go to the bathroom? I don't like an audience for that."

_Go to the bathroom… oh, expelling waste products. Right… just let me know when you're done. _And he pulled away briefly, grateful for a word of warning at least. Seeing as even humans found that particular natural process disgusting and embarrassing, he doubted it was something he wanted to see for himself either.

"All right, we're good."

Ratchet took that as consent to re-establish the link. _So what is it you do with your life? _he asked as Conrad stripped off his clothes and started a shower. _I didn't exactly get the best of looks yesterday… had other things on my CPU._

"Think we all had other things on our minds," he replied, pouring some kind of thick fluid into his hand and kneading it into his hair. "I work at a video game store."

_Ah… is that all?_

"Hey, most of us don't live exciting lives," Conrad retorted. "And it beats digging ditch or flipping burgers. Plus I'm not going to be doing it for the rest of my life – once I get some money saved up I'm going to school."

_That's a worthy goal… what do you plan on studying?_

"Music theory."

That… wasn't exactly the most helpful of things to be studying, though Ratchet figured Jazz might approve of such a choice. _And how is music theory going to help your life?_

"You sound like my dad," Conrad grumbled, and unexpectedly irritation flooded his mind. "'Get a degree you can do something with,' he says. 'Liberal arts is useless,' he says. I happen to love music, what's wrong with wanting to study it? And if I can't be a musician I can at least teach music somewhere, right?"

_All right, all right, point taken, _Ratchet replied. _But your father doesn't live here…_

"No, he doesn't," Conrad retorted shortly. "I don't want to talk about it."

Ratchet took the hint and dropped the subject, though he couldn't help but wonder why his paternal creator was such a sore spot for him. _Do you work every day?_

"Except Sundays – store's closed. But I keep pretty busy even when I don't work." He started scrubbing at his body. "Stuff at home, the band, trying out the crazy games and movies Zack shoves at me…"

_A band?_

"Yeah, music… you guys have music, right?"

_Every culture has music, or at least every culture I'm familiar with. It's… probably quite different from what you're used to._

"I'll bet. Probably something really techno, like Daft Punk."

_I have no idea what that is._

"Another band." He turned off the shower and climbed out, reaching for a towel. "Dragonglass – that's our band – we're kind of still trying to find our style. Angela wants to try for something like symphonic metal, Zack wants something more like '80s rock. I guess for now we just kind of make organized noise."

_To be honest, a lot of your music sounds like 'organized noise' to me, _Ratchet confessed. _I do enjoy some of your singers, though. That Groban fellow is good. So's Presley._

Conrad snorted at that. "You're an Elvis fan? That's… kind of awesome." Once he'd finished drying off, he tossed the towel aside. "If you're in my head long enough, maybe you'll get a chance to hear us play. We've got a practice coming up."

_I have no idea how long I'm going to be here. Like I said earlier, there's no precedent for this kind of thing. For all I know, my spark could fade out of you today. Or I could be in here the rest of your natural life. We have no way of knowing._

Conrad didn't reply to that right away. He was busy applying some kind of foamy material to his face, and Ratchet watched in fascination as he began scraping it away, taking the layer of coarse stubble off with it. There seemed to be so much that humans had to do to maintain themselves – not just the basics like refueling, resting, and eliminating wastes, but general cleanliness and tidiness as well. Unless one was Tracks or Sunstreaker, a Cybertronian could generally go a week or so between trips to the washrack, and they generally woke up in the morning looking the same as when they retired for the night. Humans seemed to get uglier overnight, and getting themselves looking halfway presentable again seemed to take up a good chunk of time.

He stayed quiet while Conrad finished his morning ritual – shaving, combing his hair, even taking a brush to his teeth of all things. Only when he'd finished and was in the process of getting dressed did he speak up again.

_Soon I'm going to need your help. Maybe not today, but soon._

"I guess that 'eventually I'm going to need your help' has turned into 'I need your help right now,' huh?" Conrad asked, pulling a shoe on.

_I get that you're not thrilled with all this. Neither am I. But the Autobots need my help, and I can't just stand idly by and let things fall apart. Even if I'm stuck in your body, there are still things I can do to help._

"Um… the Autobots are in Tennessee. How are we going to help them from here?"

_We'll just have to find a way to get there._

"Right… look, Ratchet, I can't afford a trip east anytime soon. You know how much a plane ticket costs these days?"

_It'd be a small price to pay to ensure the Decepticons don't take over your world._

"Shouldn't we see how things are going over there first? For all we know they could have put someone new in charge and have things going well by this point."

_Turn on the blasted news or something, then! _Ratchet was rapidly losing patience with this kid. Didn't he get how serious this was.

"I don't have time!" Conrad retorted. "I've got a job to be at." He donned a cap, took one last look in the mirror to be sure everything looked presentable, and headed for the kitchen. "Look, I'll grab a newspaper or switch the TV on to a news channel on my break or something, okay? If I'm late again Mr. Jakobsen's going to kill me."

_You don't get how important this is, do you? The fate of two worlds could rest on this!_

"The Autobots aren't going to fall apart because you're not there!"

_I still have to be there! _Ratchet insisted. _I have to do something to help!_

Conrad said nothing, and Ratchet suspected the young man was actively ignoring him. He grumbled some choice words to himself, halfway hoping his host would overhear and react, but he just went on pouring a bowl of cereal and pretending he wasn't even there. Was this kid heartless or what? He didn't even care about the Autobot cause, or that the Decepticons could be winning the war for good even as they spoke…

_Well, look at it from his point of view, _a little voice in his own mind nagged. _He's not an Autobot. He doesn't even know any Autobots apart from you. This doesn't affect his day-to-day life – nothing's changed for him except you being here. He has no reason to care about this, and unless the Decepticons DO wipe the Autobots out and start taking over the planet in earnest, why should he care? _

True, Ratchet supposed, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Flat-out asking the kid for help wasn't going to work, it seemed – he was going to have to find a way to convince him. Even if it meant he had to bend his pride a bit and compromise on something.

_Fine, _he said at last. _I can wait until your break today. But if things are taking a turn for the worse… can you at least consider making the trip?_

Conrad didn't answer right away, concentrating on finishing his breakfast. Ratchet briefly wondered why he was experiencing sight, sound, and touch through the human's senses, but not smell or taste. Maybe he had to actively concentrate on those senses to activate them…

"I'll consider it," he said at last. "But I can't make promises. I have a life too, you know."

Ratchet wanted to argue that he might not have much of a life once the Decepticons conquered the planet, but he decided it would be best not to argue that point. _That'll do for now._

"It'll have to." Conrad stood and headed for the garage… only to curse and stagger as something yelped and lurched out from under the table. The dog bounded into the living room and turned to give the young man a reproachful look.

"Sorry, Gandalf," Conrad told him. "Please don't look at me like that – I stepped on your tail, I didn't come at you with a knife."

The dog whined a bit, then slunk off to sulk.

_He can't be that put out over that minor an injury, can he?_

"He's probably bummed that we're going to work and leaving him home alone all day. He'll be fine once someone gets home." And he headed for the garage to fetch his bike.

Ratchet frowned inwardly. There was something odd about that dog… but it was something he couldn't place…

He'd worry about it later, he supposed. There were more pressing issues on his CPU than a strange canine.

* * *

Conrad braked and pulled up to the back of the store, a slight smile breaking out on his face as he spotted a familiar-looking lump next to the Dumpster. If that was who he thought it was…

"Hi kid!" An arm detached itself from the rest of the lump to wave at him. "Long time no see!"

"Hi, Crazy Jon," Conrad replied, dismounting from his bike and going to chain it up. "Get tired of the shelter already?"

"Aw, they kicked me out again," Jon grumbled, rolling over and climbing to his feet. The man looked fairly short, but given that he walked hunched over most of the time he could have been taller than he looked. His gray-streaked brown hair hung in greasy hanks around his unshaven face, and he wore a faded and patched overcoat, a gray sweatshirt, ragged jeans, and a pair of work boots that looked to be nearing the end of their lifespan. Known as "Crazy Jon" to the employees here, he camped out behind the store periodically and scraped through life by digging through the strip mall's Dumpsters for recyclables. Mr. Jakobsen had threatened to call the cops on him, but Conrad had caught their boss sneaking food out to the man from time to time, so he suspected the threat was all bluster.

"They kicked you out?" asked Conrad. "You didn't start a fight, did you?"

"Nah, they just couldn't handle the truth."

"The truth… oh geez, Jon, did you tell them about the lizard people? Thought I told you to keep quiet about that."

"Well, someone's gotta tell the world the director of that place is one of them scalies!" Jon insisted, throwing an arm up in the air. "They're freakin' everywhere, trying to infiltrate our gov'rment and make lunchmeat outta us! If I can sniff 'em out, it's my duty to warn everyone!"

Conrad didn't know whether to laugh or groan in exasperation. "Hey Jon, I know you want to save the world and all… but if the lizards know that you can see them, they'll target you first, right?"

"Oh… didn't think of that." Jon wore a look of enlightenment on his bedraggled face, despite the fact that Conrad had told him this several times already. "Ah well. What's done is done." And he turned to head back to the Dumpster, doubtless to start the day's can-hunting.

"Hey Jon, wait." Conrad opened the bag hanging off his handlebars and pulled out the brown paper sack that held his lunch. "Here. In case you don't find much today."

A smile brightened the man's grizzled face as he took the sack. "Bless you, kid. You stay safe, ya hear?"

"I plan on it." He saluted Jon before opening the door and heading on in.

_What's all this about lizard people? _Ratchet asked, speaking up for the first time since they'd left the house.

"Jon's not quite all there," Conrad replied, whispering the reply just under his breath as he punched in. "Dunno if it's PSOD from his war days or if he was missing some marbles before that, but he's convinced there's lizard people trying to take over our world and use us as livestock. But he's pretty harmless."

_Never acted on his delusions, then, _Ratchet noted. _There's something… off about him._

"I did just say he was kinda off his nut…"

_Not that. It's just something… can't quite put my finger on it… _His voice trailed off. _Maybe being in here is just knocking me a bit off-center myself. Don't mind me. What about your lunch, though? Don't you need that?_

"I should have a few bucks, I can duck into McDonald's or something on my break. If I don't, well, missing one meal's not gonna kill me. And who knows when Jon's gonna get a chance to eat again…"

"Who you talkin' to, 'Rad?" Zack asked, poking his head out from behind a stack of boxes.

"Nobody, just thinking out loud," Conrad replied quickly.

"How come when I talk to myself its psycho, but when you talk to yourself it's thinking out loud?" Zack did his best to sound accusatory, but his grin and dancing eyes gave him away.

"Har har," Conrad retorted. "Anything need done before we open? Get any deliveries?"

"Not yet. Just get all the lights on, the demos up, and make sure everything's restocked."

"On it."

As the two of them set to work getting Angry Duck Games ready for opening, Conrad mulled over how to deal with the whole Ratchet situation at the moment. He couldn't exactly eject him from his mind or anything, but he could at least make some plans on how to deal with having an Autobot stuck in his brain. Such as how to talk to him without looking like an utter lunatic.

Ratchet must have been thinking the same thing, because he spoke up at that moment. _We need to figure out a way to communicate nonverbally. It's going to look bizarre to people if you start talking to yourself._

Conrad made sure Zack was looking the other way before nodding in response. At least they were on the same page, it seemed like.

_Why don't you try just thinking what you want to say? Focus on it, and see if I can pick it up. We seem to be able to at least sense each other's emotional states, so some form of mind-to-mind communication must be possible._

He wondered if it could still be called mind-to-mind contact if both beings in question were sharing a mind, but he kept that thought to himself. Instead, he decided to give Ratchet's suggestion a shot. Setting down the stack of games in his hands, he closed his eyes and _thought _as hard as he could at the Autobot.

_**LIKE THIS?**_

_Whoa! _He could actually feel Ratchet recoil a bit at the force behind that thought-out phrase. _Too loud! Don't "shout" your thoughts!_

He tried again, easing up just a bit. _HOW IS IT SHOUTING WHEN IT'S IN MY MIND?_

_We're mind-to-mind already, it doesn't take THAT much effort to get a message across. And still too much force. Ease up just a bit…_

_How's this?_

_Better. Much better. _Relief colored Ratchet's corner of his mind. _So just think your responses to me like that from now on, all right? _

_Sure thing, _Conrad "replied," feeling a burst of relief himself. _This makes things a whole lot easier…_

"Wake up, space cadet!" And a game box – thankfully empty at the moment – bounced off his shoulder.

"Augh!" Conrad whirled to glare at Zack. "What was that for?"

"Focus you must learn, my young apprentice," Zack replied in a gravely voice, grinning. "You were spacin' out, thought I'd wake you up." He held his hand out for the box. "What, you wanted me to kiss you awake like Sleeping Beauty?"

"Ew, no." He handed the box back. "Sorry… still a little out of it today."

"Still thinking about the news?"

"Yeah… hey, you haven't heard anything else about it, have you? We shut off the TV once they announced Optimus was dead, so if there was anything else we missed it."

Zack shrugged. "They mostly just talked about that for the rest of the night. It's Princess Diana all over again."

"Only you could make the jump from giant robots to British royalty."

"Har har. I mean it's the same kind of thing. Big name like Princess Di or Michael Jackson dies, and that's all the media talks about for weeks. You'll see. We won't be able to swing a dead cat for the next month without hitting a retrospective of his life or some conspiracy theory about how his death was an elaborate murder like JFK or something."

"Dude, he was shot by a Decepticon. I think that counts as murder."

"You know what I mean – an inside job. Like one of the Autobots had it in for him and arranged his death or something. Not that I think that happened, I'm not a conspiracy nut, but someone's bound to bring it up."

_Can you guys change the subject? _Ratchet groaned. _This is highly uncomfortable._

_I can try, but when Zack goes off on one of his rants, there's not much you can do. _Aloud he asked "Did we get a paper today?"

"Yeah, it's on the front counter. Three guesses what the headline is, first two don't count."

Conrad checked his watch. Five minutes until they opened; he had time to at least skim the articles and pick up any news that might help Ratchet. He put away the last of the games, then went to the counter and picked up the copy of the Salt Lake Tribune. Just as Zack had warned, the first headline practically screamed OPTIMUS PRIME DIES in a huge font, making Ratchet recoil slightly in his corner of their mind. Thankfully they'd at least had the taste not to put a picture of his death on the cover…

_Most of this is information we already know, _Ratchet lamented. _And they misspelled Kup's name. How the frag do you misspell a three-letter word anyhow? I wonder about your journalism sometimes._

_Who's Kup? I didn't even read that far, what are you talking about?_

_You may not be reading that far, but your eyes are still on the page. I've pretty well finished this front page. Try going in further._

Conrad obediently opened the paper and hunted out the rest of the article for him. Seemed that so long as he was looking at something, he didn't have to focus on reading it for Ratchet to be able to read it as well. That was interesting, and kind of helpful too.

"_Ultra Magnus Takes Charge of Autobot Forces…" Well, at least they've got someone competent in charge. Last time we lost a Prime, we scrambled about leaderless for a good six quatrexes before Optimus Prime was chosen…_

_What's a quatrex?_

_Unit of time. It's about equal to… _He took a moment to calculate. _One of your months._

_How'd you get around leaderless for six months?_

_The Council and the military leaders kept things going for the most part, but morale was pretty bad until Optimus took up the Matrix…_

_Matrix? _He hoped whatever the Matrix was to the Autobots, it wasn't the same as the Matrix in those movies…

_It's an artifact that contains the combined wisdom of the Primes, and is carried by our current leader. If Ultra Magnus is leading the Autobots now, he must have the Matrix. Probably means we need to be calling him Ultimus Prime or something like that… um, your friend's trying to get your attention._

Conrad glanced up to see Zack standing in front of him, waving his hand in front of his face.

"Hello, anyone home?" Zack asked. "Conrad, you in there, or did the aliens get you?

Conrad raised his hand and gave a wave of his own. "These aren't the droids you're looking for."

Zack laughed. "You have been well-trained, my young apprentice. Mr. Jakobsen's car just pulled up, time to unlock the door and look busy."

"Right." He swept the newspaper to the side and went to turn on the lights while Zack moved to open the door, where a customer was already waiting with a dusty box in his arms. Conrad guessed that the man had been cleaning out his garage, found an old console and some games, and was hoping to turn them in for a quick buck. If there was a Dreamcast in that box, he was seriously calling first dibs on it, but knowing his luck it would be something silly or weird like a Virtual Boy, in which case Zack would probably pay the guy to take it off his hands.

_You picked an odd line of work, it seems, _Ratchet noted.

_Eh, I won't be doing this forever. In the meantime, it helps pay the bills at home. You need me to look at the paper again on my break?_

_Not for now. I saw enough that I'm at least satisfied that there's someone competent in charge. But we're going to keep an audial out for any further news. I'd rather not grow too complacent… and we still have no proof that Megatron's dead. He could take advantage of this whole situation for his own ends._

_I have to ask… why is Megatron such a threat anyhow? What's this whole war of yours about?_

_Don't they have a Cybertronian History unit in your schools?_

_Not really. The most they ever cover is some of the bigger events, like the Autobot Trial or the attack on New York City. We talked about it for a couple days in my high school World History unit, and they said something about the Decepticons coming here for energy, but that's about it._

Ratchet snorted. _Figures. They only go in-depth enough to cover how our war affects your kind. Understandable, I suppose, but no less annoying._

_I guess they figure if we want to know more, we can research it ourselves. They do offer courses on it at BYU…_

_No time for that. Looks like I'm going to have to educate you from the ground up…_

"Hawkins, help the damn customer already!"

Conrad jumped at Mr. Jakobsen's shout, and focused his eyes to see the man standing in front of him, still holding the box and giving him a weird look.

_We'll talk more on your break, _Ratchet assured him. _For now, do what your friend said and look busy._

"Sorry, Mr. Jakobsen," Conrad told his boss before giving the customer his attention, watching as he pulled a dusty SNES system and a handful of games out of the box. Was it a sign of how mind-numbing his job could be that he would much rather be listening to Ratchet talk about war history than working at the moment? Then again, there were days he'd rather be having a root canal than doing his job. Them was the breaks, he supposed.


	4. Chapter 4

Meanwhile, in another part of Provo, another mental conversation was taking place.

_What precisely are you doing?_

The boy rolled his eyes, as if he were the adult addressing a small child and not the other way around. "I'm gonna jump off the roof of the garage onto Dad's car while he drives up and scare him."

_And you honestly think a moving vehicle, primarily constructed of metal and weighing approximately two tons, is going to be sufficient to break your fall enough to prevent injury?_

The boy shrugged. "I dunno."

_You haven't even thought this through, have you?_

"I'm not gonna jump onto the driveway or anything! Geez, I'm not stupid."

_And jumping onto a moving vehicle is less stupid._

"Shut up, dad'll be home any minute."

_May I ask, for the third time, why you are so dedicated to jumping off the roof of your family unit's home onto a moving vehicle in order to give your paternal creator a scare?_

The boy answered with the sort of honest but maddening simplicity typical of a child: "Because it'll be fun."

_You humans have a bizarre sense of fun._

"TANNER! GET DOWN FROM THERE THIS INSTANT!"

The boy looked down. "Aw, Mom!"

"Don't 'aw, Mom' me, young man," the woman retorted, storming up to the ladder Tanner had set up by the garage door to access the roof. "You are in SO much trouble when your father comes home!"

"Geez, Mom, you act like I'm not even wearing a helmet!"

"I don't care if you're wearing full body armor; you're coming down from there right now!" She gestured firmly at the ladder. "What are you doing up there anyhow?"

"Playing with my robot friend."

"Your robot friend is in trouble too when your father comes home. Do you WANT to be grounded for the rest of the summer? Between this and the garbage disposal…"

"That wasn't me, I swear!"

Prowl gave an internal groan and disconnected from Tanner's sense of hearing in an effort to block out the rest of the argument. Reduced from Prime's second in command to the "imaginary friend" of a human boy… was this his punishment for coming down so hard on the twins for their last pranking spree? He thought they had been difficult to handle, but they were practically saints in comparison to the crazy, logic-free mind of a human boy.

Not for the first time, Prowl wondered just how he had gotten into this mess anyhow… and if this was the result of one of Wheeljack's experiments backfiring spectacularly, he was going to throttle the scientist when he saw him next. Even if it was impossible for a mech to be strangled to death, it would at least relieve some of his pent-up irritation.

* * *

"Hawkins, Bowen, which of you wants overtime?" Mr. Jakobsen said abruptly, not looking up from checking over a delivery form for errors. "Need someone to cover a night shift."

"I'll do it," Zack volunteered, raising his hand. "Dad's been crankier than normal, so it'll be a legitimate excuse to get out of the house tonight."

"Who's calling in sick?" asked Conrad.

"Zee," Mr. Jakobsen replied. "Somethin' about twenty-four hour flu or something."

Conrad frowned. In the three years he'd worked here, he hadn't known Angela to take time off for an illness… or for anything except the death of one of her grandparents two years back. For her to call in sick had to mean something worse than a simple flubug. It would be like her to have a broken limb or a serious illness and simply tell her friends she was a little under the weather, though.

"Hope she's better in time for band practice tomorrow," Zack pointed out. "Especially since she's the one who keeps pushin' for us to rehearse."

"Can you blame her?" asked Conrad. "If we want to get serious about this band, we need to practice more. Get a few more songs under our belt. Hell, put an album together and try to sell it. The more we treat it like a joke, the more we're going to suck."

Zack shrugged. "Hard to practice new songs when nobody's written any new songs for us. Hint, hint."

"I'm working on it," Conrad retorted. "I'm a little stuck with the one I'm working on."

"Stuck on a rhyme?"

"No, just plain stuck. I want something epic for the bridge…"

"Your last one wasn't epic and it's our most popular song. C'mon, man, just fart something out and we'll work with it! Song doesn't have to be a masterpiece to be popular. Look at 'Gangam Style' or 'Call Me Maybe…'"

"Ugh, I want a song, not an Internet meme." He cut open another box and began pulling out copies of _Skyrim. _"If you're suddenly the genius on what's popular, you write the songs."

Zack raised his hands. "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a musician!"

"Whatever, Doctor Who."

"Just the Doctor, no last name. And the line's from Star Trek, not Doctor Who…"

"Whatever, Doc." And he went to go restock the shelves.

_All right, I admit, I'm dying of curiosity, _Ratchet admitted. _What two songs does your band play?_

'_The first one's just a cover of a Nightwish song,'_ _Conrad_ replied. _'The second one's this stupid little tune I wrote back in high school about a sci-fi geek who gets abducted by aliens and ends up scaring them into dropping him back home. But everyone who hears it loves it. No accounting for taste, I guess.'_

_I suppose not. And you didn't tell me you wrote music._

'_You never asked.'_

_Huh… if you write your own music, maybe studying the subject isn't a bad thing. Refine your craft and all._

'_Thanks. At least you're more reasonable about it than my dad.'_

_I'd wondered about that… you seemed rather irritated when your paternal creator was mentioned before. Do the two of you not get along?_

'_You could say that, I guess. He and my mom divorced about five years ago, and they were separated for a few years before that. We don't talk a whole lot, and he hasn't really been interested in my life since the divorce. He's never really liked me going into music as a career, though.'_

_Ah._ A moment of silence. _Should I not pry any further?_

Conrad hesitated – this was information he hadn't even shared with the band, let alone a giant robot he'd only known for a day or so. But seeing as they were sharing headspace, Ratchet was going to find out sooner or later, so he supposed he ought to let him know now.

'_Let's just say it's hard for two people to want to stay married when one finds the other in bed with his workout coach.'_

_Oh… oh! Yeah, that's understandable, I suppose._

'_You suppose? Is infidelity not a big deal for you guys or something?'_

_Infidelity doesn't exist for our kind. When two Cybertronians bond, it's for life. Only death can break a bond, and if the other half of the bond survives their partner they don't take on another bondmate. And believe me, we take that kind of thing very seriously – there's no negating a bond if you get bored with your partner or realize you've made a mistake, so mechs are encouraged to only bond if they're absolutely sure their partner is right for them._

So divorce wasn't a thing for Autobots… that was interesting. And now that Ratchet had brought up his kind he seized on that as a chance to change the subject.

'_You said you were going to tell me more about your guys' war.'_

_Oh, right. That's probably best done once you get home from work. It's going to take awhile and your boss might not appreciate you zoning out on the job…_

"Excuse me?"

Conrad looked up from his shelving. A young woman, wearing a light jeans jacket over clothes he assumed were trendy for high-schoolers this year, stood at the end of the shelf, tapping her foot and giving him an irritated look. He wondered how long she'd been waiting for him to snap out of his funk, then wondered what she was doing in a gaming store in the first place. She didn't seem to be the gaming type. Then again, if there were grown men who admitted to watching My Little Pony – Fielding came to mind – he supposed there could be prom-queen-looking girls who played _Halo_ or _Gears of War_. Or she could be looking for a present for her boyfriend or something.

"Can I help you?" he asked, standing and setting aside the game box in his hand.

The girl's irritation evaporated, and she gave a perky smile. "Yeah, I was wondering if you had _The Hobbit_ in yet."

"Um… I don't think they released a video game for that movie."

"I was meaning the movie itself," she pointed out. "I looked at Hastings but it's SO expensive there, so I was hoping maybe you had a used copy already or something."

Great, one of these people. He braced himself for a backlash and tried again. "Miss, we're a video game store. We don't carry movies."

"But Hastings has it!"

"Ma'am, we're not Hastings. We only do video games."

"Oh." She seemed to ponder that for a moment. "Well, do you have the new James Bond?"

"Not unless they made a video game of it. We have _Goldeneye_ for the Wii."

"I don't even have a Wii," she said dismissively. "What about _Silver Linings Playbook_? Or _Les Miserables, _the new one with Hugh Jackman?"

"Miss…" He shut his mouth, aware that he was about to snap at her. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't tell off the customer. That was Mr. Jakobsen's job, and he'd be in trouble if he denied his boss the pleasure of giving a verbal thrashing to an idiot customer. At least that was one perk of his job – he might not be able to talk back to a troublesome customer, but he had a boss who would handle that for him.

"Miss, Angry Duck Games specializes in new and used video games, consoles, and equipment. Not movies, not music, not books. Just video games. I'd be happy to give you directions to Walmart or a Redbox if you wanted to check there for new movies."

"Ugh," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted a freakin' movie, is that too much to ask?" She turned and stomped off.

_Primus, what's her problem? _Ratchet demanded.

'_Believe it or not, she's not the only one who comes in asking for things like that. People come in all the time asking for things we don't have – movies, computers, CDs, even cell phones. People assume that we're Hastings or Best Buy just because we have video games.'_

_If people keep asking for that kind of thing, why doesn't your boss just stock movies and such things? That way he can fill the demand._

'_Too much hassle with the inventory, I guess. Plus he'd have to change the name of the store, and he doesn't think Angry Duck Everything will have quite the same ring to it as Angry Duck Games.'_

Ratchet chuckled. _Guess he has a point._

'_You sure I can't get a history lesson now? It might help pass the time.'_

_Only if you're sure it won't interfere with your work. I'd rather not get you in trouble._

'_I can work and listen. Won't be any different from listening to music while I work.'_

_If you're sure. Suppose it begins with the first Civil War, at the beginning of our recorded history…_

"Excuse me?"

Conrad glanced up to find the girl back at the end of the isle. "Huh?"

"Do you have _Wreck-It Ralph? _It's a video-game movie, you should carry it…"

Okay, he gave up. "Why don't you talk to our manager about it, ma'am? He's right over at the front counter."

"'Kay." And she walked off, oblivious to the tongue-lashing she was about to receive.

_There's something odd about her._

'_You mean besides the fact that she's an airhead?'_

_It's just… queer. Like she's giving off an energy signal, except I no longer have the sensors to identify exactly what it is. It's the same signal I was picking up from Crazy Jon, and that dog of yours._

'_What do you think it is?'_

_Beats me. Like I said, without the sensors and scanners built into my original body I can't tell what it is. Maybe if I got closer to one of them I'd be able to get a better idea of it._

'_I'm not gonna go up and manhandle the customer to satisfy your curiosity. I could go to prison for that.'_

_I don't expect you to. Just wait until you get off work and can meet up with Crazy Jon again. Or if he's not there, go home and investigate your dog. Something's going on here, and I aim to find out._

'_This is sure a change from "We have to find out what's going on at Autobot City and get there right away," you know.'_

_Now that I'm satisfied that the situation at Autobot City is under control, I'd like to see what's causing this,_ Ratchet replied testily. _Do you want your history lesson or not? Because if you'd rather get smart with me I can skip it entirely._

'_Okay, okay, geez… start over. Something about a Civil War?'_

_Right._ And he launched into a lecture, Conrad keeping a mental ear tuned to it as he continued to straighten and restock the shelves. The lecture was interrupted a few minutes in by the prom queen's shrieking as Howard chased her to her car, and he had to smother a laugh with his hand. This job might have crappy pay and no benefits, but at least it guaranteed entertainment.

* * *

…_which resulted in us waking up on your planet, with alt modes corresponding to vehicles typical of your level of technology,_ _he_ concluded. _And from there, I'm guessing you know the rest._

'_Huh… so why haven't you guys changed alt modes since the eighties? Our technology's improved since then, and to be honest there aren't many 1984 models on the roads anymore.'_

_Some of us have changed modes to accommodate for the times. But most of us find the modes SkySpy provided us with perfectly suitable for our needs. We've grown comfortable with them and would prefer not to change them if we don't need to. Even you humans don't undergo surgery to alter your looks or body type whenever you feel like it, do you?_

'_Some do.' _Conrad braked his bike in front of the house. i _'But I get your point.'_

Ratchet sighed inwardly, grateful that the history lecture was over for now. He was no historian, and it had taken some real CPU-wracking to recall some of the details of the war. It didn't help that Conrad hadn't been a passive listener – he'd been genuinely curious and kept interrupting with questions, some of which Ratchet had no answer to. Had he been in his original body he could have remotely accessed Teletraan-1 for the answers…

But he wasn't in his original body. Its abilities were out of his grasp at the moment. He had to make do with what he had… and it was rapidly becoming clear that an organic body just didn't have a fraction of the capabilities of a Cybertronian chassis. This was going to take awhile to get used to.

Conrad pulled out a set of keys and went to unlock the door, but paused. "Huh."

_Huh what?_

'_Gandalf's not at the window.'_

_I take it that's not a good sign._

'_No, it's not. Usually he's so happy to see us when we get home he's trying to claw his way through the glass. I hope he's not sick again.'_

_You don't think he could have escaped the house, do you?_

'_No, he's not the type to wander off. Besides, the house is locked and there's no doggie door, and he's too old to try breaking a window or chewing through a screen.'_ He unlocked the door and pushed it open, peering into the house. "Gandalf?"

A faint snarl was their answer. Ratchet felt every muscle in Conrad's body tense in response, a reaction he would have echoed had he any control over his current body. Whatever energy had infected the dog, if it had turned him vicious…

Conrad dragged his bike through the kitchen, and Ratchet sensed he intended to use it as a shield in case the creature attacked. He looked on, ready to shout out a warning, as the young man peered around the corner and into the living room.

"GANDALF!"

The dog glanced up at the bellowing of his name. A guitar-shaped game controller lay under his forepaws, and from all appearances it looked as if he had gnawed the thing open to get at its internal components. The entire living room looked to be in a similar state of tooth-inflicted destruction – several cushions had been gutted and their fluffy contents scattered across the floor like so much snow, and the floor in one corner was covered in dirt and bits of plant matter from where a potted plant had been knocked down and chewed on. Even if the culprit hadn't been caught red-handed – or red-pawed, Ratchet supposed – the dirt caking his nose and the clump of white stuffing hanging from the corner of his mouth were enough evidence to damn him.

Completely oblivious to the trouble he was in, the dog thumped his tail against the floor and whined excitedly at seeing Conrad.

"Don't give me that look!" Conrad scolded. "Bad dog!"

Gandalf whined again, lowering his head and giving him an utterly heartbroken look. Ratchet couldn't help it – he burst out laughing. That expression reminded him so much of Bluestreak – unlike the Lambo twins, who inevitably tried to laugh or bluff their way out of trouble when caught in a prank, Bluestreak would instead give Ratchet his saddest, most guilt-ridden look whenever he thought he might be in for a scolding or worse. More often than not it resulted in Ratchet forgetting his anger and reducing whatever punishment he'd intended to deliver to a short lecture and an admonition to behave himself from now on.

'_What's so funny?' _Conrad demanded.

_Sorry… that look on his face… it reminded me of someone else. And don't be too hard on him. Don't dogs feel the urge to chew sometimes?_

'_Yeah, when they're puppies. But Gandalf should be out of that stage by now. He hasn't chewed in years.' _He stooped down and yanked the controller away from the dog. i _'And this was an expensive controller!'_

_Well, if this is atypical behavior for him, maybe there's a legitimate reason for it,_ _Ratchet_ theorized. _Maybe it's an illness._

'_Or maybe he's finally fed up with Mom and I being gone all day and is taking it out on our stuff.'_ All the same, Conrad reached out and gave the dog a punitive swat on the rump.

A jolt passed through their shared mind at the moment – a stab of emotion that didn't belong to either himself or his host. In the brief moment Conrad's hand was in contact with Gandalf they both felt a burst of mingled anger, confusion, and terror driving through their minds like a dagger. Conrad recoiled and staggered, swearing loudly, and Ratchet briefly disconnected from his host's senses in an effort to "reboot" and regain his mental bearings.

He reconnected in time to see Gandalf bolt from the room, yelping piteously, his tail tucked between his legs.

"The hell was that?" Conrad demanded aloud.

_Frag if I know,_ _Ratchet_ replied. _Never had THAT happen before. Those animals aren't telepathic, are they?_

'_Shouldn't be. And if Gandalf were, you'd think we'd have known by now.' _He looked around the room, groaning in dismay at the mess. i _'Looks like I get to play cleanup duty before Mom gets home.'_

Ratchet wasn't so concerned about the mess, however. That contact with Gandalf had been too brief to draw any certain conclusions, but he had the distinct impression that whatever mind they had touched, it didn't belong to the dog. There had been something all too familiar about it…

Another burst of emotion filled him, but this time it was his own – a burning elation that seemed to strengthen him. For the first time since this whole mess had begun, he felt hope… hope that the bargain he had struck wasn't in vain. Did one of his fallen comrades live on in an organic body as well? Did the unfortunate canine play host to an Autobot spark? It might explain his current weird behavior – an animal would react differently from a human to changes in its body and mind, and perhaps chewing on random objects had been the only way Gandalf had to deal with his inner turmoil. It might even be a conscious cry for help on his part, an alert to his owners that something didn't feel right and he didn't know what to do about it.

And if the odd energy output from Gandalf meant he played host to a spark… perhaps it meant the others had lived on as well. Perhaps Wheeljack lived on in Crazy Jon, or in the teenage girl from the game store. And perhaps all the others who had fallen in battle were not truly dead, but inhabiting organic bodies elsewhere… slag, perhaps even Optimus Prime was alive and well, if trapped in a body of flesh…

He had to rein in his enthusiasm and force himself to think realistically. This was all conjecture at the moment. He needed proof. He needed to confirm that one of his allies really did live on in Gandalf's body. If his hunch proved correct, then he'd worry about tracking down the others.

Conrad paused in gathering the mangled cushions. _'You're awfully thoughtful in there.'_

_I have a theory, but it might seem bizarre to you._

He snorted. _'I have the ghost of a giant alien robot in my head. I'm kind of open to weird theories at the moment.'_

_I concede that point. But what if I told you that I might not be the only one of my kind stuck like this? That some of the others killed by the Decepticons might live on… and that one of them might be residing in your dog's body?_

Conrad seemed about to protest, but instead he became thoughtful. _'Huh… that might explain why he went all goofy. Especially if he's got a Dinobot in there or something.'_

_I didn't think about that… but if Grimlock's in there, I can see him being this destructive in response. I want to prove this, though._

'_Easy enough to do.' _Conrad set the cushions aside and walked through the house. _'His favorite hiding spot is under Mom's bed. It's gonna be a pain to drag him out, though.'_

_That probably won't be necessary. Just touch him and see if that's enough._

True to Conrad's word, Gandalf had wedged himself under the bed in one of the bedrooms. Conrad laid down on his stomach and reached beneath the bed, but the dog whined and scooted away from his hand.

"C'mon, boy," Conrad urged. "You're not in trouble. Sorry I yelled at you, 'kay?"

Gandalf whimpered, as if he wasn't sure he believed him.

"C'mon out," he cajoled. "I'll give you a treat. Want one of your cookies? C'mon out, boy!"

Gandalf's ears perked up at the mention of a treat, but something in his eyes flashed, and instead of coming out he backed away from the outstretched hand, ears flat against his head.

"Gandalf, c'mon," Conrad insisted. "Why're you being so difficult?"

_Could be whatever Autobot's inside him got spooked,_ _Ratchet_ theorized. _And he's warning the dog away from you. Maybe we'd better wait until he calms down…_

"Conrad Reginald Hawkins!"

"Ugh," Conrad groaned, and wriggled out from under the bed. "Mom, I can explain…"

The woman standing in the bedroom doorway bore enough of a resemblance to Conrad that even without his host confirming it, Ratchet could guess the family relationship right away. Her hair was a chestnut color in contrast to Conrad's black hair – maybe she dyed it, or maybe he simply had his father's genetics in that respect – but the flashing gray eyes and the set of the jaw were similar enough. She wore the crisp sort of clothes Ratchet had come to associate with human nurses, with a nametag reading "Lindsey Carson" still hanging from her pocket and a navy-blue bag still hanging from her shoulder. And she looked fit to kill as she regarded her son, a look in her eyes that demanded an explanation right now if he wanted to avoid a good verbal thrashing.

"What's the rule about going into my room, young man?"

"Mom…"

"It hasn't changed in twenty-one years, I'm not sure why it suddenly doesn't matter now. And while you're at it, explain the mess in the living room..."

"Mom, Gandalf chewed up the living room, I was trying to get him out from under the bed to see what's wrong with him!"

The anger left her eyes at that moment. "That explains the mess." She sighed, a different sort of irritation taking over now. "We can't afford a vet bill right now, but I'll call in the morning and see if we can't get him in. This isn't normal for him."

"Think you can get him out from under the bed? I must have spooked him when I yelled at him for chewing up my Guitar Hero controller, and now he won't come out."

"Oh no, and that was an expensive controller." She looked at the bed, considering, then shook her head. "Let him come out on his own. He'll calm down."

Conrad didn't seem so convinced, but he shrugged and headed out of the room anyhow.

"And next time stay out of my room," she ordered. "Dog problem or not. Let me handle it when I get home."

"Even if he throws up on your bed?" Conrad asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not like I don't deal with people throwing up on a regular basis at work," she replied. "You wouldn't want me going into your room when you're not home."

"That's true… sorry."

"Don't be. Sorry I lost my temper. It's just been a long day." She sighed and looked around the living room with a resigned expression. "The fun never ends, does it?"

"Life, it's just one damn thing after another," Conrad replied with a slight laugh. "How about I handle dinner if you handle the living room?"

"Sounds fair."

As Conrad headed for the kitchen, Ratchet took the opportunity to speak up. _You two seem to handle things well between the two of you._

'_We've kind of had to. Now that I'm an adult, we're more like roommates than a mom taking care of a kid. And since Dad's not around to handle things, we have to split the housework and cooking between us. It's not easy, but we get by.'_

_I've noticed that. _Ratchet sighed. _Once that dog comes out of hiding, I still want an up-close look at him. If there is an Autobot in there, I want to get him calmed down and assure him he's not alone. Once that's taken care of, then I want to hunt down the others if at all possible._

'_Fun times.'_

_I know, it's an inconvenience for you, but it has to be done. And the sooner we can track down the others, the sooner we can find a solution to this problem._

'_You mean getting you guys out of our bodies?'_

_That's precisely what I mean._

Conrad grinned. _'Where do we start?'_

_One thing at a time, Conrad. First the dog, then we'll go from there. _He went quiet a moment, letting Conrad work on digging through the refrigerator undisturbed for a moment. Then he chuckled softly.

'_What's so funny?'_

_Reginald… really?_

'_Oh shut up. It's a family name. Your kind's just lucky enough to not have to get saddled with embarrassing middle names.'_

_I knew enough mechanisms back home with embarrassing given names that you'd be surprised. Sludge, Slag, Blot, Slog, Erector…_

Conrad snorted, then cracked up laughing. _'You're kidding! Erector?'_

_I know, the word has connotations among your kind…_

Any further communication with him was impossible at the moment, however – the young man was nearly in hysterics with laughter. Even when his mom stuck her head into the kitchen to ask if everything was okay, he couldn't stop laughing. Ratchet, for his part, had to chuckle a bit himself. Conrad was all right, he decided. A little stubborn, yes, but he wasn't a bad kid. Maybe the two of them would get along better than he had first thought.


	5. Chapter 5

_Primus hates me._

That wasn't exactly a new thought. Huffer had long been convinced that whatever powers governed the universe – Primus, Fate, one of the humans' deities, or just plain luck – they must hate him. Maybe he'd done something in a past life to offend them, if reincarnation was even a thing. Maybe his very existence offended them on some level, as if he'd failed some kind of secret test and was now paying the price. Or maybe they just needed a scapegoat, and he'd been a convenient target. It was the only explanation he could think of for why everything was going so consistently wrong for him lately.

But this latest incident was just the cherry on the sundae, as the humans would say. Whatever a cherry was, or a sundae for that matter… he'd never been bothered to look either term up before now. But whatever.

His host bolted out of hiding at that moment, rasping angrily as it pecked at the legs of a couple of high-school kids exiting the store. It was just their bad luck that they happened to be wearing sandals and shorts that day, and they yelped and backpedaled quickly as their attacker scored a few vicious bites at their ankles and calves. One of them aimed a kick at the creature, but the blow went wide and missed, and in the end the two boys stalked off, muttering.

The duck beamed in satisfaction – as much as a duck could beam, anyhow – and waddled back to its customary resting spot in the bushes, waiting for the next passerby.

_This sucks, _Huffer thought sourly. _I get shot and I don't even get the pleasure of a decent afterlife. No, I get stuck in the body of a stupid flesh creature. Not just any flesh creature, but one that has to go for a fraggin' swim every day. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's water._

The duck gave a rasp that must have been duck-speech for "don't care" before hunkering down in its makeshift nest, a bowl-shaped hollow it had dug out in the dirt and cedar chips in a nearby flowerbed. Being a bird, it didn't exactly have particularly thrilling thoughts – its mind was mostly on watching for potential threats (which it seemed to define as "anything that moved") and wondering whether or not there'd be anything edible at the pond in the park later on. If it was even aware that it had picked up a mental hitchhiker, it didn't seem to care.

_Primus must be laughing at me right now. That must be it. He needs a toy at the moment, and I'm his cosmic plaything. Well, I sure hope you're getting your yuks now, Primus! By sticking my CPU in the body of a slaggin' birdbrain!_

Someone lobbed a paper bag into the bushes, and the duck rose and waddled over to investigate, its interest piqued. Obviously it had learned that human garbage sometimes meant food, and so was always worth investigating. It was delighted to discover the remains of a hamburger inside, and it pecked eagerly away at the bun.

_Frag my life. Just frag it. _Maybe if he'd been a little quicker in dodging Blitzwing back at Autobot City, he wouldn't be in this mess. Or Primus would have found another way to screw him over.

Idly he wondered if Wheeljack and Windcharger had suffered the same fate – he'd seen them go down mere moments before he was shot. Maybe they were squirrels or something. No, they always had better luck than he did. Maybe they were humans and could actually do something about their situation. Or maybe they had joined the Allspark, and were laughing along with Primus at Huffer's fate. That was probably the more likely option…

* * *

Once dinner was over with and Mom had gone into her room to read and relax, Conrad turned on the television and flopped back on the couch, intent on vegging for the evening. It was time for the news, so he'd sit through that and let Ratchet absorb what he could before hijacking the TV for a game of some sort. _Bioshock _sounded good, or _Arkham Asylum…_

_They're releasing a casualty list already, _Ratchet noted, not without some dread.

'_Is that good or bad?'_

_Surprising that they're doing it this soon… but it will at least give us an idea of who we're looking for. Who might be trapped in the organics we've encountered._

'_True, I guess.' _He skimmed the list of names – Optimus Prime, Prowl, Ironhide, Ratchet (a no-brainer, even if he wasn't quite dead), Wheeljack, Brawn, Windcharger, and Huffer. He recognized a few of those names, but he had no idea who Windcharger or Huffer were. _'Um, should I be writing these down?'_

_You don't need to. I can remember them just fine. I just hope that wherever they are, they're okay._

'_I'm sure they'll be fine… if they don't freak out over being in meatbag bodies first thing.'_

_Meatbag bodies… I've never heard that term before._

'_Probably because you've never watched Futurama…'_

A "Breaking News" message flashed across the screen at that moment, and a grim-faced anchorwoman cut off the rest of Conrad's explanation.

"We've just received word that another attack has taken place at Autobot City," she reported gravely. "Just after seven PM this evening, an unknown number of ships fired on the Autobot base, causing widespread damage."

_Oh Primus, _Ratchet groaned. _Does this never end?_

'_Holy freak… you think Megatron survived? And he's trying to finish Autobot City off?'_

_More likely his replacement is trying to make a statement, _Ratchet replied. _Proving he's better than Megatron in that he can actually wipe out the Autobots without getting killed himself. That'd be a Starscream thing to do… _His voice trailed off, and his worry and frustration radiated through Conrad's mind – worry about the fates of his comrades, and frustration that he couldn't do a thing about it.

"Authorities have not yet confirmed whether the attackers were Decepticons or not, but a full evacuation of Autobot City and the surrounding area is underway. No deaths have been reported at this time…"

_Shut it off, _Ratchet insisted. _I don't want to hear anymore._

Conrad was all too happy to oblige, and he grabbed the remote and switched it off. _'I'm sorry, Ratch.'_

_This isn't your fault, _Ratchet replied softly. _I just… wish there was more I could do. I feel so helpless… stuck here, unable to do a thing to help._

Conrad was silent. What could he say? Words just didn't feel adequate to comfort someone who had lost his comrades – and his own life – to his worst enemies, and who risked losing everything he cared about even as they sat here and watched. He couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like, stuck in the body of another and having to just watch as everything he cared for was destroyed… but he could guess that it was one of the most horrible feelings in the world.

Gandalf padded into the room at that moment, dirt from the plant he'd destroyed still caking his nose. Without so much as a glance at Conrad he hauled himself onto the couch, grunting with the effort, and nudged his head under his hand to demand attention. It was as if the disaster in the living room and his subsequent freakout had never happened, and he was the same lazy, lovable mutt as before.

"Finally decided to be social, boy?" Conrad asked, reaching up to knead him behind the ears.

_It's possible the Autobot sharing minds with him has calmed down, _Ratchet noted. _Or the dog's will is overriding the Bot's. I'm guessing the former, though – Red Alert wasn't on the list of fatalities, and none of the others were given to freaking out for an extended period of time._

'_Think you can make contact with them?' _Conrad asked.

_I can try. _Something pulsed in the Autobot's corner of his mind, as if he were trying to project his thoughts down Conrad's arm and into Gandalf's brain. T_his is Autobot Ratchet, Chief Medical Officer of Optimus Prime's forces. I know someone's in there… can you hear me? Give me some sign that you can hear me and communicate._

A moment of silence. Then another voice entered his mind – this one high and raspy, with a metallic undertone and a weird sort of stutter at the end of every sentence.

_Autobot… great, I find a fellow mech, and it's an Autobot-Autobot. Just my luck-luck._

Complete shock flooded Ratchet's part of his mind at that moment. _It can't be…_

'_Who is it? That's not Prime's voice, unless he's been sucking helium…'_

_That's Shrapnel! He's an Insecticon – a Decepticon!_

"What?!" Conrad jerked his hand back, scooting as far away from the dog as the couch would allow. "This happened to 'Cons too?!"

_Evidently. _Ratchet's tone was hard and anxious now. _Stay back. He could be dangerous, especially given that he knows you harbor an Autobot now._

Conrad scrambled off the couch and moved to the other side of the room, looking for anything that could be used as a handy weapon should this Shrapnel guy goad Gandalf into attacking. Small wonder he'd turned destructive so recently – with a Decepticon in his head, of course he'd be more vicious now, more prone to wrecking havoc just for the sake of wrecking havoc. He'd have to warn Mom… though whether she believed him or not was anyone's guess. And though the thought of locking Gandalf up or even having to put him down before he hurt someone made him recoil in horror, would they even have a choice in that matter?

Gandalf whined and thumped his tail once, looking remarkably confused. Then he wriggled off the couch, grunting and groaning with the effort, and ambled over to Conrad.

_Careful…_

'_Don't need to tell me.' _Conrad grabbed a bronze bookend off the shelf and raised it, though he highly doubted he'd be able to hit his own dog with it even if he attacked. _'How dangerous is Shrapnel anyhow?'_

_I'm not sure of his abilities in this body, but as a mech he had the ability to clone himself, discharge lightning, and eat almost anything in his path._

'_Oh great, that makes me feel loads better.' _

_Well, you asked._

Gandalf looked up at him with wide, puzzled eyes, whining. Then he lowered his head and nuzzled up against Conrad's legs, leaning against him as if for comfort. Conrad held his breath, every muscle in his body so tense they almost hurt, grip tightening on the bookend…

_Whoa, relax, flesh bug-bug, _Shrapnel chirped. _Not gonna hurt you. And why'd you stop scratching? Dog had the right idea, scratching felt good-good…_

"You're a Decepticon," Conrad retorted. "You guys tend to hurt people on a regular basis."

A high-pitched giggle. _Decepticons maybe… Insecticons? We're more interested in food-food. Only worked for Megatron when he offered a deal… but he liked double-crossing us at every chance-chance. Don't want to hurt you… but wouldn't say no to something to eat-eat. Dog says you've got cookies-cookies?_

'_Ratch?' _Conrad ventured. _'What do I do now?' _It wasn't exactly every day that one's dog was possessed by a hungry, double-talking Decepticon.

Ratchet seemed to consider that himself. _Well… his statements don't exactly contradict any observations I've ever made about the Insecticons. They were a kind of rogue faction that answered to Megatron only when they felt like it. If he's double-crossed them a lot in the past, that's understandable… though they aren't exactly trustworthy little buggers themselves._

_Hey! _Shrapnel yelped. _I heard that-that!_

'_So what do we do about this one?'_

_For now… _Ratchet pondered that a little longer. _For now, go get him a cookie. Sounds like so long as the dog's happy, he's not going to hurt anyone._

Of all the advice he could have heard on how to deal with a potentially dangerous Decepticon, "get him a cookie" had to be the weirdest. But he did have a point. It sounded like this Shrapnel character had a similar mindset to Gandalf – it seemed the way to win his loyalty was through his stomach… fuel tank… whatever they had.

"Conner?" Mom called out from the bedroom. "Who are you talking to out there?"

Great, Mom was overhearing his side of the conversation. He probably sounded like a madman. "Um… just playing a game. Got my headset on."

"All right. Try to keep it down a little, I'm heading to bed."

"All right, sorry." He returned the bookend to the shelf. "Night, Mom."

"Night, Conner."

_Really, human, lying to your creator-creator? _Shrapnel teased. _And no need to talk out loud – I can hear you talk to the Autobot in there-there._

Well, at least that simplified things. _'What are you doing in my dog?'_

_Dunno. What's a doctor-bot doing in a human-human? 'Specially since I thought we killed him. Fraggin' Autobots just don't stay dead…_

_I could say the same for Insecticons, _Ratchet replied testily. _And frag if I know. One minute I'm taking a bolt through the chassis, the next I'm waking up in a flesh body._

_Sounds about right-right, _Shrapnel grumbled. _Things were going so well, too… eating Autobot City one minute, the next getting run over by Optimus Prime-Prime. Then Starscream has all the injured chucked off Astrotrain, then stuck here-here._

He could feel Ratchet wince in the back of his mind. _Not even an attempt made at repairs?_

_Starscream didn't care-care. He wanted the leadership, and Megatron was too damaged to fight back-back. Rest of us just victims of circumstance, I guess-guess._

Ouch. That was the suckiest retirement plan in existence. _'This Starscream guy sounds like a real piece of work.'_

_That's one way to put it-put it. _Shrapnel giggled. _Silly me, I'm agreeing with a human-human._

_Who was killed at the battle of Autobot City? _Ratchet asked. _Or got thrown off the ship after the battle?_

_Megatron, Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Insecticons-Insecticons._

'_How many Insecticons are there?' _asked Conrad.

_Three. Me, Kickback, and Bombshell-Bombshell._

Ratchet gave a mental sigh. _So we've got more mechs to look out for. Just great._

'_Are we really going to be hunting down Decepticons as well?' _Conrad asked. The thought of scouring Provo for angry killer robots stuck in squishy bodies wasn't exactly appealing.

_I don't like it, but we'd better, _Ratchet replied. _Partly because I'd feel a lot better knowing just where our enemies are, and partly because having a homicidal Decepticon stuck in one's head isn't a fate I'd wish on Dr. Arkeville, let alone an innocent human._

_Your concern for our welfare is touching, Autobot-Autobot, _Shrapnel muttered with more than a little snark in his tone. _Hey human, you gonna pay up? We were promised cookies-cookies._

Conrad sighed and headed for the kitchen. "C'mon, boy, want a treat?"

Gandalf perked up, and he trotted after him eagerly.

_This throws a whole new spanner in the works, _Ratchet noted as Conrad dug around in the cupboard for the box of dog treats. _I thought this would only be a matter of finding my comrades and getting us to Autobot City to see if this can be reversed. Now we've got to deal with tracking down our mortal foes at the same time, and deciding what to do about them._

'_What CAN be done about it? You said this had never happened before.'_

_I'm sure our scientists can puzzle something out. And at any rate, I'd rather not leave anyone with a spark in their body for too long. We don't know what kind of long-term effects rarefied energon can have on an organic._

'_Rarefied what?'_

_Energon's our fuel – we concentrate it from other energy sources, such as gasoline or electricity. Rarefied energon is a highly purified form of it that makes up our sparks. Decepticons have done experiments on organics in the past to determine the effects of energon on non-Cybertronian life forms – a practice no sane Autobot scientist would condone – but as far as I know no one has studied the effects of rarefied energon on an organic. Mostly because rarefied energon is a precious commodity, and no one wants to use it frivolously. _

Great. So he was a living lab animal now. If he got some kind of weird alien cancer from this whole experience, he wondered if he could sue the Autobots for his medical bills. Or would they get off on diplomatic immunity or something? He had no clue.

Gandalf whined, and Conrad realized he'd been standing there with the treat box, staring blankly into space while Ratchet talked. Shaking his head, he pulled out a dog cookie and held it out for Gandalf. He took it eagerly, chewing with relish.

_This is just so confusing, _Ratchet went on, and Conrad got the feeling he was talking more to himself than to his host now. _Why the Decepticons too? The Autobots I can kind of understand, but the Decepticons? They weren't ever part of the deal…_

'_Part of what deal?'_

_What… never mind. Just thinking out loud._

Conrad wanted to push him for an answer, but Gandalf nudged against his hand, and Shrapnel took advantage of the contact to speak up again.

_That was good stuff. Got more-more?_

'_You guys can taste?' _Conrad offered him another biscuit before rubbing behind his ears again.

_Of course we can taste-taste! Took some effort to do it in this body, but worth it-worth it. Gotta get the mutt to try the electronics again, delicious-delicious…_

_You can control your host? _asked Ratchet, sounding a little interested but mostly appalled.

_Sure. Just takes concentration and effort-effort. Helps that the dog ain't too bright-bright…_

'_Don't call my dog stupid,' _Conrad snapped. _'And if you make him chew on my game controllers again I'll…' _How could he even punish Shrapnel without hurting Gandalf in the process? _'Just stay away from my game controllers.'_

_All right, fine, _Shrapnel grumbled. _But get this poor dog something more interesting to eat sometimes-sometimes. That dry junk gets old-old._

'_Deal.' _He'd stop by WinCo and get a few cans of Alpo tomorrow. Canned dog food wasn't exactly cheap, but it beat having his controllers destroyed.

Ratchet, for his part, seemed more unsettled than ever. _So it IS possible for a spark to take control of the host body. I had no idea… _

'_Don't get ANY ideas, Ratch. I'm not going to be your personal zombie or anything.'_

_I have no intention of hijacking your body, _Ratchet insisted. _But it's a disturbing development all the same. Especially given the OTHER piece of information we learned tonight._

'_About the Decepticons…' _A cold chill passed through his body at that thought. Knowing that there were people out there infected with Decepticon sparks against their wills was bad enough, but if those Decepticon sparks were able to fully possess their hosts… that was practically the plot for a horror movie right there. How many people were affected by this… and what exactly would the Decepticons do with this new ability? Hell, what if one of them happened to land in the body of someone in a position of power, like a politician or a high-ranking military officer? Or even just in the body of someone who wouldn't particularly mind sharing bodies with a Decepticon, such as a terrorist or a serial killer?

'_This is a nightmare,' _he concluded.

_Exactly. I shudder to think what some of those Decepticons are doing right now. And the worst part is the NOT knowing…_

'_Ratch, calm down. We can't do anything about it until we find them.'_

_Some of the most dangerous mechs in our recorded history are on the loose in your hometown and you're telling me to calm down?_

Well, when he put it that way, that was a bit more worrisome. _'Look, it's late. I have the day off tomorrow, and we can do a more thorough search in the morning. See if we can find Crazy Jon and that girl from the store. Maybe we'll find more of your buddies.'_

_If you find Skywarp, give him a good punch in the jaw from me-from me, _Shrapnel put in. _Slagger owes me five cubes-cubes._

'_Not if he ends up in some poor little retired lady,' _Conrad retorted. _'Or a cop. Maybe if he ends up in Zack, we can talk about jaw-punching.'_

That seemed to satisfy Shrapnel, though if he had anything else to say, it went unheard as Gandalf trudged off to go lay on the couch again.

Conrad, for his part, decided to forego a night of video gaming and head straight to bed. If they were going to be traipsing all over Provo tomorrow, he was going to need his sleep. He just hoped that they were able to make some headway tomorrow… and that whoever had the rotten luck to end up with a Decepticon spark, that they were okay and not being harassed or tormented unduly.

* * *

There were Autobots who liked to spread rumors that Megatron never slept, that he possessed an uncanny ability to function optimally even without nightly defrags and recharges. That wasn't precisely true – he might be one of the more powerful Decepticons, but he still had his basic requirements. He simply conditioned himself to operate on fewer hours of recharge than other mechs, and to sleep as lightly as possible to eliminate the risk of being murdered in his nightly defrag cycle. It had taken time, but it had been worth it, and more than one Autobot assassin and Decepticon usurper had learned the hard and painful way that attacking him in his sleep was a very bad idea.

That ability seemed to hold true even outside his mechanical body. For he found himself fully awake and aware even as his human host slept… and ready to begin again.

Megatron waited a bit, biding his time, ensuring his host was deeply enough asleep that he could do what needed to be done. This was a most unusual situation, not to mention highly undesirable – waking up to find himself trapped in a body of flesh had been his ultimate nightmare, and he had spent a good hour raving in anger and horror, terrifying his host in the process. If this was Unicron's idea of fulfilling his end of the bargain, then the being had a sick sense of humor. He'd been promised a new body, a chance at survival… and upon agreeing he'd promptly been ejected from his chassis, watching in shock and rage as another intelligence had taken over his old body.

The thought of that pretender, Galvatron, taking his hard-built Decepticon Empire and running it into the ground was enough to make his oil curdle, if he still had oil. And as soon as he was in a position to fight back, he was going to take the usurper's head off at the shoulders and mount it on his wall. So long as his spark still burned, he was NOT going to give up his position to anyone, least of all the one who had stolen his body.

_One step at a time, _he reminded himself. He had much to do if he was going to regain his life. His situation was bleak, yes, but not entirely hopeless. And it wasn't as if he wasn't used to working against impossible odds and with substandard resources. This would be challenging to say the very least, but it could be done.

His host's eyes were still closed, blocking off his sight. He gathered his mental strength and _pushed, _forcing the organic body to bow to his will. This had proven a futile exercise while his host was awake – the human was stubborn, and had refused to grant him access to more than the basic senses. But now, with the wretched creature's consciousness out of commission for a few precious hours…

Sight returned – a dim bedroom, with the only light being a combination of moonlight and streetlight spilling in through the window and across the bed. Satisfaction flooded him, but he pushed it aside for now. Compared to operating the rest of the body, opening and shutting the eyelids was sparkling's play. From here on out, things would get much harder.

Slowly, he exerted his control to more of the human's body, focusing on the limbs and seeing what could be moved. In a way, a human body's construction wasn't much different from a Cybertronian's – there was still a system of joints, of hinges and cables and pistons that powered the body and allowed it to move. Said systems were simply made of inferior materials, of messy flesh and bone and tendon rather than the strength and cleanliness of metal. Having to power this disgusting collection of wet meat and tissue in place of his original chassis was a sickening thought, but if it was all he had to work with… then so be it.

With considerable effort, he was able to raise one arm in front of his line of sight. Concentrating, he was able to clench the hand into a fist, then relax it. Control of the individual fingers was more difficult, and after a few frustrating minutes he gave up. He would need to learn that particular skill eventually, but for now he had other things on his mind.

Sitting up was its own challenge – the human spinal array was a complex collection of tendon and small bones, and this particular one felt stiff and painful as he forced it to work. Primus below, if he was going to end up with a human body, he could have at least gotten one in its prime, instead of one so obviously used as this one.

"Honey?"

Megatron froze, his concentration breaking, and the body nearly collapsed back onto the bed before he regained control. Fraggit… all this motion had awakened his host's mate. She was stirring beside him, rolling over beneath the blankets, voice blurred with sleep.

"Honey, you okay?" she repeated. "What are you doing up?"

He hadn't intended to practice speaking in this body yet, but it looked as if it were time for a crash course. That was far easier said than done. Humans didn't have simple vocalizers, and so had to make do with a cumbersome system of throat membranes, tongue, and lips. His first attempt at sound came out a weird croak of noise that sounded sick even to his own audials… ears.

"Back bothering you again?"

He forced another sound out, trying to make it sound affirmative.

"Take your meds and go back to sleep," the female murmured, and promptly rolled over and fell back asleep.

Megatron waited until he was sure she wouldn't wake up again before resuming his efforts. Something else he was going to have to learn in this body – proper speech. Perhaps he would need to pay better attention while the human was awake, and figure out just what it took to operate this mess of a vocal system. Primus, why did biological creatures have to do everything the hard way?

Finally, he managed to get his host's body to stand beside the bed, shaking but thankfully not collapsing. Good… he'd gotten this far last night. It was time to see what else he was capable of. Concentrating all his attention on one leg, he forced it forward a step.

It was like learning to walk all over again, as if he'd just been upgraded and was getting used to a new body. Which wasn't so far off the mark, he supposed, except this was a definite downgrade from his former chassis. It took all his strength to focus on moving forward, to move first one leg, then the other, all the while trying to maintain his balance and keep his host upright.

It seemed that the further he walked, though, the easier the action became, and by the time he reached the main room of the house he felt as if he had full control over the host's legs. He hadn't enough control over the facial muscles yet to grin, but he couldn't help basking in satisfaction as he turned the body around and guided it back to the bedroom. Excellent… this got easier with practice. Given time, he would soon have complete control over this clumsy organic body.

And at the moment, all he had was time. He could afford to be patient.

He turned the body around, intent on heading back to the bedroom… and found someone blocking his path. A little girl stood in the hallway, wearing a simple pink outfit with some sort of cartoon character printed on the front, holding a stuffed pony by the tail in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. She looked up at him nervously, as if expecting some sort of scolding.

"I'm gonna go back to bed, Daddy," she said quickly. "Promise. I just needed a glass of water…"

Megatron could care less about what the organic spawn was doing wandering the house at this hour. He didn't bother to answer her – he still couldn't get anything more coherent than a grunt out of his host's throat anyhow – but simply moved the body forward, holding a hand out to push her down the hall and toward her room. She misinterpreted the gesture and, tucking the pony under her other arm, she grabbed his hand and walked alongside him, keeping up with his slow but steady shuffle as they walked down the hall together.

Amazing, he thought, how fragile these young organics were… even in a body far weaker than his former chassis, he could feel the delicate bones of her hand through the skin. Small wonder the flesh creatures were so protective of their young. Perhaps the spawn could be an asset for him, an advantage over his host should the man rebel or try to reassert his control. It would be such a shame if something were to happen to his offspring, wouldn't it? Especially if one simple action could prevent it…

He slowly made his way back to the bedroom, down the hall and past doorways that he knew led to the bedrooms of his host's offspring. Through the door of one room he could hear a teenage boy snoring loudly, sounding rather amusingly like Motormaster's engine when the Stunticon was ticked off. In another, the youngest child slept silently – a mercy, given that it had been the loudest and most demanding of the four while awake, despite being the smallest. The third bedroom was shared by two girls, and he stopped and nudged the spawn, a silent order for her to go in.

The child released his host's hand, and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "Night Daddy. Love you." And she ducked into the bedroom.

Megatron chuckled, though the sound came from the man's throat as a mere clicking of the vocal cords. How innocent. How blissfully unaware. The entire pack of creatures had no idea who they harbored in their midst – even his host merely thought of him as a stress-induced delusion. These miserable flesh germs wouldn't know what was coming to them until it was too late to stop it.

The female barely stirred as he let his host fall back into bed, relinquishing his hold on the body. He had made considerable progress tonight. Soon, very soon, he would have total control of his organic host.

And from there, he would move on to the next step – regaining control of the Decepticons, and taking back what was rightfully his. Galvatron and Starscream would both pay. He swore it.


	6. Chapter 6

_So this is Hell._

Thundercracker had no idea why he was thinking this – Cybertronian theology didn't exactly have an equivalent to the humans' concept of Hell. It was generally accepted that when a Cybertronian died, their spark left this plane of existence to join the Well of All Sparks, regardless of whether or not they behaved themselves in this life. Fear of eternal damnation didn't drive them to follow the Covenant of Primus or the laws and tenants of their kind, but rather, desire to make this temporal life better for themselves and others.

So why he'd blacked out shortly after being tossed out of Astrotrain, only to wake up in a situation that could only be described as some sort of bizarre purgatory, he could only speculate.

Chatter and laughter flowed all around him like waves, an unintelligible babble that left him floundering helplessly anytime he tried to understand it. Primus below, why did these hairless monkeys have so many languages? And if he had to end up in a human body, why not one that at least spoke the primary language of their kind? Most Cybertronians knew English, and he'd pretty much assumed that it would be the only language he'd have to learn on this rock. Perhaps that had been shortsighted of him… but then, they hadn't been planning on staying on Earth.

He briefly considered disconnecting himself from his host's sense of hearing – anything pertinent, he figured, could be gleaned from her mental and emotional state. But in the end, he remained connected. There was always the off chance that someone speaking the primary language of these beings would walk in, or that he'd be able to pick up a word or two of the language. Both chances seemed fairly slim, but maybe he'd get lucky.

As far as he could tell, this was some sort of family gathering – relatives coming together to celebrate some sort of occasion. His host seemed to recognize everyone as kin, at least, though her feelings toward them varied. Some she looked on with some degree of fondness, while others generated annoyance or even outright hostility. The one she seemed closest to was an elderly woman with pale silver hair, perhaps a grand-creator, and who she was frequently sitting by and doting on.

_Funny… never thought of these creatures as having family units, _Thundercracker noted. Then again, it wasn't as if he'd spent a lot of time socializing with the creatures – the most interaction he usually had with them was holding one of the Autobots' pets hostage, or watching them run away screaming during a firefight. He'd never thought he'd have to interact with them on a personal basis… and he'd certainly never dreamed he'd end up _stuck _in one.

Maybe this was his personal purgatory, then, his punishment for his crimes against the human species. Perhaps Primus had sentenced him to being trapped in a flesh creature as penance of a sort, to make him understand these beings better before he was allowed to rejoin the Well. It seemed a rather sadistic punishment from a deity who normally didn't interfere in Cybertronian affairs… but then, he supposed it was stupidity to try to predict a god's actions.

His host said something to the old woman – something along the lines of "I'll be right back," he guessed – and stood, preparing to walk off. She barely made it two steps from her chair before disaster struck.

Thundercracker couldn't suppress a mental shout of surprise as both he and the human were seized with a sudden bout of vertigo. Pain shot through their shared skull, and their combined vision went dim and fuzzy. Instinctively he found himself trying to correct their balance, but that just resulted in her limbs flailing wildly as she fell to the ground.

The old woman screamed, and that brought several other family members crowding around his host, talking in frantic tones as they tried to help her to her feet. She wobbled unsteadily and promptly sat back down, dizzy and nauseous, and Thundercracker desperately hoped she wouldn't get sick on him.

_I'm going to guess that wasn't supposed to happen. _It certainly hadn't happened in the few days he'd been sharing a body with this human. Surely if she was prone to these sorts of mechanical failures – which probably wasn't the right term, but whatever – she would have suffered one before now. And judging by everyone's reaction to this sudden blackout, this sort of thing wasn't normal.

_Fraggit, just don't die on me, _he thought darkly. _That's all I need, to be stuck in a dead body… unless that's part of my punishment too, in which case frag you, Primus…_

* * *

Conrad tightened the strap of his bike helmet one more notch, then patted the bag hanging from his handlebars that contained the checklist of names. "All right, I think we're ready."

_First order of business is to see if we can find Jon again, _Ratchet informed him, all business now that they were finally doing this. _So long as we have a definite idea of who's got a Cybertronian inside them, we might as well take advantage of it._

'_What about if we can't find him, or we do find him and figure out who's inside him? What then?'_

_Ride around, cover as much of the city as we can. I'll alert you if it feels like we're getting close to one. Seeing as we've got at least four known sparks in this city, I'm going to hazard a guess most of them, if not all, are going to be in this area._

Conrad nodded and swung a leg over his bike, seating himself. _'Not how I pictured spending my day off, but I guess it beats staying home and doing housework.'_

_Your mom didn't seem too happy that you were going to be gone today._

'_Sunday's generally the one day we're both together, and she hates it when something takes away from that. Between this and band practice tonight, she's pretty annoyed about it. But ah well, there's next week.'_

Ratchet sighed. _I just hope by next week we've got this all resolved. This can't be pleasant for anyone involved._

'_Got that right. No offense.'_

_None taken._

The route to the game store was so familiar Conrad could have pedaled it in his sleep. He braked the bike and chained it up at its usual spot behind the store, then headed for Crazy Jon's usual sleeping place by the Dumpster. He saw the makeshift pad of flattened trash bags that marked Jon's patch of asphalt, as well as some indecipherable graffiti etched into the paint, but beyond that there was no trace of him.

'_Dammit, I was hoping that one would be easy at least.'_

_Where else does he have to go?_

'_Sometimes he stays at the homeless shelter, but they just threw him out recently for causing a disturbance, so I dunno if he'd go back there. Beyond that, I'm not sure where he'd be. Unless Mr. Jakobson chased him off for good… didn't think he'd ever do that.'_

_We'll keep an optic out anyhow. If he doesn't have a vehicle or money for transportation, I doubt he's going to go far…_

Something jabbed into his ankle, and he cursed and jumped to the side in an effort to avoid the feathery projectile gunning for his feet. Howard was in a fouler mood than usual today, it seemed – he hissed and squawked angrily, beating his single wing and doing all in his power to drive the intruder away. Conrad backed away, trying to shoo him off, but he kept right on attacking.

"Dude, what's your problem?" he snapped. "Bug off!"

The duck gave an honest-to-goodness growl and grabbed his sock in his beak, tugging at it as if trying to rip it off his foot by force. Conrad drew his foot back – he wasn't going to kick Howard, but maybe just seeing a foot come his way would make him back down…

_No, don't chase it off! _Ratchet insisted.

'_What, you like having our feet pecked to shreds?'_

_There's someone in there! In the bird!_

Conrad stared down at Howard, who was now waddling in frantic circles around him and vocally protesting his presence. The duck was a host. There was an Autobot or Decepticon in the duck. The thought was so utterly ridiculous, even after everything he'd been through in the past couple of days, that he cracked up laughing.

_What's so funny?_

"It's a duckformer!" Conrad cackled. "Robots with feathers!"

The feeling he got from Ratchet could best be described as a mental eye roll. _Glad someone's getting a kick out of our situation. See if you can grab him._

Conrad nodded, still laughing too hard to say anything coherent, and bent down to make a grab for the duck. Howard probably could have made a run for it, but he was so insistent on pecking and biting at the intruder's feet that he missed the hands reaching down to scoop him up. He squawked indignantly and kicked his webbed feet, trying to wriggle loose, but Conrad held him fast.

"Got him!"

_Excellent. This has got to be the strangest thing I've ever done, but… _ Ratchet directed his thoughts directly at the duck now. _This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots. If anyone is in there, please respond._

_Ratchet! _The duck didn't stop struggling, but the voice coming from it sounded relieved. _Thank Primus, I'm not the only one! Though of course, you're lucky enough to get an actual human body, I'm stuck with this… thing._

_It's good to hear your voice for once, Huffer, _Ratchet replied, relief coloring his own voice. _Listen – a number of Autobots and Decepticons have ended up in organic bodies, and we're trying to track them all down._

_So we're not the only ones? Wheeljack and Windcharger could still be alive?_

_As well as Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, and all the others. _He hesitated, then continued with a somewhat resigned air. _Unfortunately, Decepticons are included in that number – we've come across Shrapnel, and it's possible the other Decepticons, and even Megatron himself, now inhabit organic bodies as well. _

_Oh joy. Fraggin' Cons never stay dead, do they? Think they did this to us? Stuck us in nasty flesh bodies so we're out of the way when the invasion of Earth hits?_

'_This guy's a real Eeyore, isn't he?' _Conrad cut in. _'And that's my nasty flesh body you're talking about.'_

Huffer sputtered. _What… who…_

_Huffer, this is Conrad Hawkins, my host, _Ratchet introduced. _He's going to be helping us. Conrad, this is Huffer, one of our minibot warriors among the Autobots._

'_Cool. What's he turn into?'_

_Under normal circumstances, a truck. But as you can see, these aren't normal circumstances. _He turned his attention back to Huffer. _To answer your question, no, I don't think the Decepticons did this. Why would they do it to themselves, for one thing? And why shove our sparks into organic bodies when just shooting us would be so much easier?_

_Point, but it still doesn't answer how… _began Huffer.

_Never mind the 'how,' and let's focus on the 'what now,' _Ratchet interrupted. _You haven't seen or felt anything weird in the past few days, have you?_

_I'm stuck in a bird! Everything feels weird!_

_I'm talking about weird energy readings. It'd be a sense of something being… off… about someone who went past you. Like walking past a stack of energon cubes and feeling the radiation they give off._

Huffer considered that, and the duck finally stopped struggling and lay in Conrad's arms with a resigned look on its beaked face. _There was a homeless guy… and some girl, but the duck chased her off…_

Conrad focused on petting Howard and keeping him calm, though privately he thought Huffer wasn't going to be a lot of help. Those were people they already knew about…

_There was a young one too – a kid. Came into the store with what I assumed was a parental unit. He seemed to be talking to himself, though I guess he could have been talking to a Cybertronian._

_A child… Primus, I hope that kid didn't end up with a Decepticon in his head. Anything else?_

_Yeah… a woman. Older. Not here, but by the pond where this fraggin' bird likes to go swimming every day. She lives in a tent, conducts some kind of business there._

'_Must be in the park nearby,' _Conrad realized. _'Homeless people camp out there sometimes. Maybe we'll find Crazy Jon there too.'_

_It's worth a shot, _Ratchet confessed. _Huffer, does your host move around much, or do you think you can convince him to stay in this area?_

_What am I, the Duck Whisperer? _Huffer demanded. _This crazy bird doesn't listen to a word I say._

'_Howard's lived here ever since I started working here,' _Conrad pointed out. _'It's his turf. I doubt he's going to leave here.'_

_I hate having to depend on the whim of an animal, but it sounds like we don't have much of a choice. Huffer, we'll come back for you, I promise. For now, we have to round up as many of the others as we can._

_Just don't forget about me, all right? Everyone forgets about me… its like no one likes me…_

_That's not true and you know it. _Ratchet didn't sound all that convinced about his own statement, but it seemed to be enough to mollify Huffer for a moment. _We'll stay in touch._

Conrad set Howard down, and the duck shook himself before giving the young man an indignant look. Then he waddled off to sit in a flower bed and preen his mussed feathers.

_Primus, it's probably a mercy he ended up in an animal, _Ratchet groaned. _He probably would have driven an actual human to self-harm with his constant whining._

'_What's his problem anyhow?'_

_Beats me. He's always been like that._

Conrad pulled the notebook out of his bag and marked off Huffer's name, quickly jotting "Howard the duck" next to it. One down, at least… and a couple dozen to go. This was going to be a long day…

Howard began kicking up a fuss again, flapping his wing and rasping loudly. At the same time Ratchet seemed to perk up in his corner of Conrad's brain, excitement prickling through their shared nervous system.

_Someone's coming… someone with a spark!_

Conrad jammed the notebook back into his bag and looked around. _'Where?'_

_Over there… heading for the entrance to the store…_

Conrad couldn't suppress a groan. It was the prom queen chick again, knocking on the door to Angry Duck Games and peering inside. Evidently the locked door, dimmed lights, and CLOSED sign weren't enough to clue her in that the store wasn't open for business today. Finally she huffed a sigh and walked off, pulling out her phone as she went.

_After her!_

Conrad jogged a few steps after the girl, then slowed down as realization hit. _'Do you realize how creepy this looks? A twenty-year-old guy chasing a high-schooler?'_

_I don't care how creepy it looks, after her! We can't let her get away, there's one of our own in there!_

'_She's going to think I'm a stalker!'_

_You are, just not the kind that means her ill. Now come ON!_

Conrad had turned to head back for his bike, but suddenly he felt his entire body wrench around of its own accord. _'Hey!'_

_Whoa… I didn't know I could do that._

'_You promised you wouldn't hijack my body!'_

_That was totally involuntary, I swear!_

'_All right, fine, I'll go after her. Just leave my body alone.' _And Conrad bolted after the girl, who was almost to the end of the block by now. Hopefully she wasn't packing mace or anything…

The girl heard him coming and turned to face him, a look of confusion bordering on panic on her face. Quickly Conrad scrambled for some sort of excuse for chasing after her. Maybe he could claim she dropped something? Belatedly he thought he should have actually brought something and claimed she'd dropped it – money, maybe – and use that as an excuse. Heck, it'd even give them a chance to make contact and for Ratchet to talk to her current head case.

Even if he'd had an excuse ready, he would never have gotten a chance to use it – before he could get more than a "Hey" out she brought her foot up to give him a vicious kick in the worst possible place.

By the time the pain had faded enough for him to be aware of his surroundings again, the girl was gone. He was lying on the sidewalk, body curled up in an effort to protect himself. Pedestrians stared down at him and gave him a wide berth, and one even held up her phone and snapped a picture. Great, he was going to end up on someone's Facebook now.

_Great… Primus… below… _Ratchet groaned. _Are we dying?_

'_No… just feels like it.' _He pushed himself to his feet, still wincing a bit in pain. _'I take it you've never been kicked there before.'_

_I'm a Cybertronian, I don't have a 'there,' _Ratchet retorted. _We don't reproduce like you organics do. But that's a discussion for another time. She got away, didn't she?_

'_Yeah. Told you this wasn't a smart idea.'_

_I'm sorry… I really am. For this AND for taking control of your body. I promise I'll be more careful in the future._

The Autobot sounded genuinely contrite, and Conrad found he couldn't be too upset. It wasn't like Ratchet had deliberately set out to hurt him or anything. Maybe he was letting his eagerness to find his friends take over, but then again, he guessed he couldn't blame him for that.

_I got the briefest sense of another presence out of her, though, _Ratchet noted. _Not nearly enough to determine who it was, but there's someone in there all right. _

'_I'm not chasing her down again. Next time she might actually call the cops on me.'_

_She's got to come back to your store sometime, I'm sure. Even if it's because she didn't learn her lesson the first time and wants another blasted movie. For now, though, let's keep going. Can you still ride, or are we going to have to walk from here?_

'_Dude, I'm not mortally wounded or anything. She kicked me, she didn't shoot me.' _Though the thought of getting back on his bike made him flinch. _'Still, maybe we'd better walk for a bit.'_

_Let's try another angle. That woman in the park that Huffer mentioned… if she's still there, maybe we can figure out if she's another host. _

Conrad nodded, though privately he just hoped that this woman would be easier to deal with than the prom queen. Maybe he'd have to start wearing an athletic cup while they did their search.

* * *

True to Huffer's word, a tent stood in the park just a block away from the game store. But it didn't appear to belong to a homeless woman. It was a rich violet-blue in color, dotted with silver starbursts that seemed to form rough approximations of various constellations. A banner was stretched over the entrance, bearing an image of a single eye and ornate silver-gilded letters declaring "Madame Sapphique, Medium and Psychic – Past Life Regression, Hypnosis, Palm and Tarot Readings."

_What in the… _Ratchet began. This hadn't been at all what he was expecting… though judging by the twinge of annoyance coming from his human companion's mind, Conrad recognized what was going on.

'_Oh geez, this chick… Good thing we caught her before the cops did.'_

_She's not a fugitive, is she?_

'_No, just some random nutcase making a quick buck from people's stupidity. She parks her tent wherever there's room and does her business for a few days until she gets run off for not having a permit – reading fortunes and making quack predictions of the future. This isn't the first time she's set up shop here, though the cops told her if it happened again she'd be fined.'_

_I see. _Some sort of con artist passing themselves off as a psychic, then. Genuine psychics and telepaths weren't unheard of back on Cybertron, but even on his homeworld there had been the occasional fraud boasting about having extraordinary powers to see the future or communicate with the Well. More than one hapless mech had been scammed of precious credits by such hucksters, while most mechs with genuine abilities had instead put themselves to good use by offering their services to the Prime… or to Megatron, if their loyalties had swung that way.

'_So I guess we go in?'_

_Huh? Sorry, just thinking… is she harmless?_

'_Eh, kinda loony, but she's harmless.'_

_Then let's do this._

Conrad took a step forward… then stumbled. Ratchet winced as their body was struck by a wave of dizziness, vision fuzzing and sense of balance scrambled. He almost tried taking control of the body for himself in an effort to keep Conrad's balance, but stopped himself at the last minute. At this point he could do more harm than good, he realized.

The dizzy spell passed, and Conrad leaned against a tree as he struggled not to be sick. "What… the hell… was that?"

_I don't know… you don't get these often, do you?_

'_Actually, this is the first time.' _He pushed himself upright, a bit wobbly on his feet. _'Ugh… I think I'm gonna throw up…'_

_Think this is a reaction to that kick?_

'_I'm not THAT much of a wimp.' _Once his sense of balance had returned, he took a tentative step forward. _'Whatever it was, it's gone now.'_

Ratchet frowned inwardly. Something funny was going on here… well, funnier, seeing as this whole situation was bizarre to begin with. Conrad seemed willing to brush it off as a one-time event, but the medic wasn't so sure…

A curtain of iridescent fabric – the door to the tent, Ratchet realized – parted, and a middle-aged woman smiled out at them. "Come on in! Madame Sapphique will see you now."

'_This better be worth it,' _Conrad thought, and with a deep breath to steel himself he stepped inside.

The tent somehow seemed larger on the inside than it did on the outside, the inner walls lined with tan-gold fabric and marked with symbols Ratchet couldn't make head or tail out of. The floor was covered with a layer of the same sort of fabric that made up the exterior of the tent, and in the center of the tent's single room were two chairs and a table draped in black velvet. Ratchet half-expected to see a crystal ball sitting in the middle of the table, but there was no sign of such an artifact. Instead a deck of cards, a thick leather-bound book with an owl embossed on the cover, and an incense burner sat on one side of the table, while a hand-lettered sign reading "All sales final – cash or check only" occupied the other side. The interior of the tent was dimly lit by an electric lantern hanging from the ceiling, and a strange smell – smoky and herbal – filled the air.

Madame Sapphique gestured toward a chair, indicating Conrad could sit, before seating herself on the opposite side of the table. Ratchet judged her to be in her late fifties, though given that he was a poor judge of human age he could have been off by about ten years in either direction. Her eyes were heavily shadowed in violet, her lashes either false or exaggerated with makeup, and her gray-brown hair was mostly confined by a purple scarf wrapped around her head and tied off behind. An emerald-green shawl covered most of her upper body, and an assortment of bracelets jangled on her wrists. She had obviously put some effort into her appearance, trying to make herself look mystic and otherworldly, but the effect came off as somewhat cartoonish. The fact that she was clearly wearing blue jeans under the shawl didn't exactly help matters.

"I don't get enough young people in here," she said, offering a pleasant smile. "It's good to see that this generation still holds some interest in the spiritual world."

"Um… right." Conrad shifted in his chair, and Ratchet sensed that he was distinctly uncomfortable.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I can dose the incense burner if it's bothering you. Client comfort is my priority."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Conrad assured her quickly. "Just… never had my fortune told before."

She laughed, though it was more friendly than mocking. "In that case may I suggest a tarot reading? I find that's the best way to start with someone who's never visited a seer before." She took the deck of cards and set it before her. "It's a ten-dollar fee."

"Uh…" Conrad opened his mouth – to tell her he wasn't here for a reading, Ratchet guessed – but he caught a burst of excitement from the human as something occurred to him, and he shifted gears. "What about a palm reading?"

_Palm reading?_

'_You're supposed to be able to tell your future from the lines in your hand. I think it's bogus, but if it means she has to hold my hand…'_

_Oh! Brilliant, Conrad. I wouldn't have thought of that myself._

"Palm reading? I could add that in for another five dollars." She set the cards aside and reached out to take his wrist. "It's not as accurate as the tarot, but it can provide some vital insight…"

Ratchet didn't wait for her to begin – he sent a direct line of thought through Conrad's body and into her. _This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots. If there's a Cybertronian in there, please respond._

Madame Sapphique froze, eyes wide. Before she could react any further, though, another voice responded, this one cold and refined.

_So… there is another._

Had he still possessed control of a body, Ratchet would have shivered at that tone. _Shockwave…_

'_Who?' _Conrad asked. _'That's not a name on our list. I've never even heard it before.'_

_I'd be surprised if you had, _Ratchet replied. _Shockwave's one of Megatron's most notorious lackeys – science officer, general, and Guardian of Cybertron in the warlord's absence. He almost never fought on the front lines, but he's still caused us no end of grief over the vorns._

_A rather simplistic way of putting it, _Shockwave replied, a note of disgust in his voice. _But… yes. I was appointed to be Cybertron's Guardian in Megatron's absence, safeguarding the planet for Megatron's eventual return to power. And my contributions to the Decepticon cause as a scientist and warrior have been quite invaluable._

'_And you're so modest, too.'_

_Conrad, this is no time to get cheeky! _Ratchet snapped.

Madame Sapphique burst into laughter, a positively beatific smile on her face. "Another one! This is wonderful!"

"How can you think having a giant robot stuck in your head is wonderful?" Conrad muttered.

_Mech, _Shockwave corrected. _The proper term is "mech." "Robot" implies a mindless drone._

"Is this really time for an etiquette lesson?" Conrad demanded.

"This must have been quite a shock for you," Madame Sapphiqe told him, patting his hand as if trying to comfort him. "But don't be scared, son. It's wonderful! A spirit has chosen to commune with you. Perhaps he sensed something special about you, a sensitivity to the spirit world…"

_If we had the ability to choose our human hosts, I would have selected a far more appropriate one, _Shockwave pointed out, not bothering to hide his disdain toward the "psychic." _And certainly one driven more by logic than by their own delusions. And I highly doubt the Autobots' medic would have settled for such a… substandard host of his own._

"Hey!" yelped Conrad. "Those're fightin' words, Shock!"

_All right, enough already! _Ratchet shouted, hoping to cut this off before it descended into a verbal and/or telepathic free-for-all. _Miss… Sapphique… as you might have guessed, my associate Conrad here plays host to a Cybertronian spark. He's come here not to have his fortune read, but to determine who, if anyone, shares your body, and to come to some sort of agreement with them. To do that, Conrad is going to need to maintain physical contact with you. Do you consent to that?_

She nodded, as if she held telepathic communication with a disembodied Autobot on a regular basis. "But of course! It would be quite rude of me to refuse a spirit."

_Spark, _Shockwave corrected.

"A spark," she replied, smiling even more broadly. "A beautiful name for it – a spark of life."

_Glad you think so, _Ratchet told her. _All right, Shockwave… I don't like you and you don't like me. I think we can safely establish that much. But we're both in the same boat here, metaphorically speaking, and we'll be able to resolve this situation much more easily if we work together than if we butt heads._

_Agreed, _Shockwave replied, much to Ratchet's surprise. _As much as I dislike allying myself with lesser creatures, be they Autobots or humans, it would seem I have little choice in this matter._

Ratchet chose to ignore the insult. _I wasn't aware you were dead._

_Much has occurred since the Battle of Autobot City._

_That's a rather ominously vague statement. Care to elaborate?_

A mental sigh, as if Shockwave felt he were addressing a slow learner. _As you might suspect, Starscream took power after Megatron's deactivation… but he was rather spectacularly killed within seconds of his coronation. A mech known as Galvatron seized the throne, and somehow convinced the Decepticons to follow him despite being virtually unknown up until his rise to power. His rule did not last long – within a day, Cybertron fell under attack._

_By the Autobots? _Ratchet felt a slight thrill of hope at this news. Had Ultra Magnus taken advantage of the upheaval in the Decepticon hierarchy to retake Cybertron?

_No… by something else._

_Something… else? _He didn't like the sound of that at all. _What sort of something else?_

_Unknown at this time. I was not able to identify it before my tower was destroyed… and my physical body was presumably destroyed along with it. _

Conrad whistled. "Sounds like something major's happening back home for you guys."

_Precisely why I am willing to overlook past grievances and work with Ratchet. If I am to return to Cybertron and find out what menaces our homeworld, I need to be free of this wretched organic body and back in my own… or failing that, in a proper cybernetic form. Am I to understand that you have some understanding of the situation, Autobot?_

Ratchet felt he had a rather good idea of what had happened, but decided that it wouldn't exactly help matters to mention his botched deal with Primus. _It appears that all casualties of the Battle of Autobot City and its aftermath have not passed on to the Well of All Sparks, but have instead been transferred to organic bodies. We can see, hear, and feel what our hosts do, and communicate with our hosts and with other Cybertronians if our hosts happen to be in physical contact, but that's it._

_I see. _There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, as if Shockwave sensed Ratchet was withholding information. But he didn't press further. _What is the plan?_

_Right now, the plan is to hunt down as many of these transferred sparks as we can. Once we know just where everyone is, we contact Autobot City. Perceptor and Skyfire should be able to figure out a way to repair our old bodies, and transfer us back. _He decided not to point out that it was rather unlikely that the Decepticons would be given their old bodies back – more likely their sparks would be held in a containment unit and sent to a prison block.

_I have had no other contact with other sparks aside from this encounter, _Shockwave confessed. _But perhaps my host can keep yours informed if we discover another._

Madame Sappique nodded. "I don't have a phone… but I can always e-mail you."

"I'll write my address down for you before I go," Conrad replied, nodding as well. "Oh… we've found two others, Shrapnel and Huffer, and we think there's a couple other humans who might have sparks in them. The rest we're going to have to hunt down. Hopefully they're close."

_Hopefully indeed… I would suggest you hurry, Ratchet. We don't know how long these organic bodies can support our sparks, and your host is rapidly running out of time._

_Running out of… what are you talking about?_

_Ah yes… I forget, you Autobots frown on conducting experiments upon organics. Then you can be thankful that I took advantage of having organic captives to perform a select number of tests…_

_You're sick, Shockwave! And don't tell me you were insane enough to conduct experiments with rarified energon! That stuff's too precious to waste!_

_Not with raw rarified energon… but the spark energies of captive Autobots proved sufficient for my needs. _He gave a mental chuckle as Ratchet recoiled in horror. _Hate me if you wish, Ratchet, but someone must do that which you find disgraceful in order to further our knowledge._

"All right, Dr. Franken-bot, what are you talking about?" Conrad asked. "What's going to happen to me?"

Shockwave at least had the good grace to stop laughing before addressing the human. _From my experiments I was able to learn that organics are not constructed to handle large doses of many kinds of energy… and rarified energon is one of them. Long-term exposure results in damage to the central nervous system and eventual death._

Horror flooded Conrad's mind, an emotion Ratchet couldn't help but echo. "How… how long have I got left?"

_Unknown at this time. But organics rarely lasted longer than a quatrex when continuously exposed to rarified energon… and in your case you are carrying said energon directly inside you. My estimates give you approximately two weeks. _He turned his thoughts to Ratchet. _Whatever you have planned… I would suggest you hurry._


	7. Chapter 7

At least today the little voice had the courtesy to wait until Heather was actually on the bus before piping up. Thank goodness for small miracles, she supposed. She rolled her eyes to the graffiti-covered ceiling, awaiting whatever inane question or statement her sudden onset of schizophrenia had for her now.

_I don't get it._

"Get what?" she murmured under her breath, doing her best not to move her lips too much. Then again, she supposed she shouldn't be too worried; it wasn't as if someone talking to themselves was the weirdest thing you'd ever see on a city bus.

_I don't get what you do, _the voice replied, sounding honestly confused. _I mean, I get why you do it, I guess, it's your job, but it's a fraggin' weird job if you ask me._

"What's not to get? I'd think it'd be pretty straightforward." She couldn't keep a bitter note out of her voice.

_Well, it ain't for me, lady. And I dunno about the males of your species, but I don't get the appeal of watching someone dance around in their underwear on stage. Thought your kind normally freaked out at stuff like that._

"Believe me, some guys would pay top dollar for that kind of thing." Not that said top dollar went to the dancers – as grasping as her boss was, she was lucky to make it home with her tip money. Wasn't there some kind of law against an employer demanding a share of the tips?

_Huh… _The voice seemed to ponder that a moment. _I still don't get it._

She sighed. "To be honest… neither do I sometimes. But it's a job." And she supposed she couldn't complain – she was lucky to have any job, even if this one was rather humiliating. Until something better came along, she'd have to stick it out.

_And why do you ride this thing anyhow? It's cramped and stuffy… don't you have a vehicle?_

"That would imply I could afford one, genius." She gazed out the dingy window. "And I'd rather not walk. This isn't the safest part of town."

_Oh, right… I keep forgetting you squishies don't have built-in weaponry. Sucks._

Heather sighed again, and braced herself as the bus lurched to a stop. The voice – "Skywarp," it had called itself – had summed up her life in one word right there.

"And one more thing," she muttered as she made her way for the exit. "You make me pass out and fall on my ass onstage again and I'll force you to watch Dora with Bailey again."

_I told you, that wasn't me!_

"It never happened before you showed up, and it's happened twice since you started yapping." And hadn't shut up since, she wanted to add. "That can't be a coincidence."

_It's not like I wanna be here either, lady. I got things to do elsewhere, and being stuck in a fleshy's brain wasn't at the top of my bucket list. And it's not me making you fall. Maybe it's those stupid heels you wear. Seriously, and Rumble used to make fun of ME for having high heels…_

Heather snorted in amusement and ducked inside the run-down apartment building, sidestepping a stack of old newspapers as she made her way up the rickety stairs. She supposed it could be worse. The voice was mostly harmless, and while she couldn't always make sense of its ramblings it at least wasn't ordering her to kill people or cut herself anything else psycho. And it seemed oddly endeared by her daughter, constantly gushing about how cute she was, even if it considered her choice in shows a form of torture…

She was halfway up the stairs when she lost her balance, and her foot slipped off the next step and twisted underneath her. Pain flashed up her leg, and her head and stomach lurched sickeningly as a sudden wave of vertigo hit her. Flailing, she tried to right herself, but she only tipped further off-balance, threatening to take a nasty spill down the stairs.

Her arm shot out of its own accord, grabbing the stair railing and gripping with all her strength. Her knees banged painfully against the steps, but at least she was spared a sudden unwanted trip down to the bottom of the staircase. She leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, shaky with the leftover adrenaline buzzing through her.

_The Pit was that?_

"Hell if I know." She pulled herself to her feet, wincing as she gingerly raised her leg. She'd twisted her ankle in the near-fall, and she desperately hoped it wasn't sprained. "That… that wasn't you that time, was it?"

_Frag, no. Well, part of it was, grabbin' the railing… but not the tipsy thing…_

She wasn't even going to ask why it was claiming responsibility for saving her from injury – she hauled herself the rest of the way up the stairs and headed for her apartment, ready to pay the babysitter and get off her feet for the night. That was it. First thing in the morning she was going down to the clinic to get her head checked. And maybe they could refer her to a cheap psychiatrist while she was at it.

* * *

Conrad's mom looked up from the stove and gave him a bewildered look. "Why are you asking?"

"Just curious," he replied, doing his best to look casual. "I mean, I know you work at a family clinic, not a neurology center, but you've gotta know something."

She sighed. "Conner, honestly… I'm starting to get worried about you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, first you passed out in the living room…"

"That only happened once, Mom."

"Then you keep spacing out in the middle of conversations and other things. And now you suddenly want to know about nervous system disorders! How can I not be worried?"

"It's nothing, Mom!" he insisted. "It's for Zack at work. Honest."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't lie to me, Conner."

"Okay, fine, it's not for Zack. But I just wanted to know what the recovery rate for that kind of thing is."

"That's a question for your father, not me. Give him a call if you really need to know."

He grimaced. "I don't need to know that bad. Anything I can do to help with dinner?"

"Get the salad done while I finish up the spaghetti. Everything else is under control."

He nodded and went to the fridge. Maybe he should have been a little more subtle in asking her about neurological stuff. Ah well, there was Wikipedia and WebMD…

_You didn't tell her that you're running out of time._

'_I thought we were keeping a lid on this.' _Conrad dumped an armful of various vegetables on the table and pulled out the lettuce. _'And I didn't want to freak her out.'_

_And coming home from work in two weeks to find you dead on the floor would freak her out less?_

'_We're going to find a way to stop it, right?' _he retorted, sawing at the head of lettuce. _'Find the others and get you out of our bodies before we start keeling over? I don't want to worry her, especially if we're going to find a solution to this.'_

_Conrad, _Ratchet said gently, _I know you don't want to worry her, but don't you think it's fair to let her know that you're sick?_

'_I'm not sick! I just have a toxic ghost in my body. And don't tell me you're giving up!'_

_Of course I'm not giving up! I'm just saying she's got a right to know! You have my permission to tell her what's going on, if that's what you're so worried about. _A slight pause. _And what's this about your father knowing about this sort of thing?_

'_He's a neurosurgeon. Diseases of the central nervous system are his thing. But he hasn't spoken to me in two years, so I doubt he cares if I'm alive or dead.'_

_That's rather harsh. He's your creator, I'm sure he still cares…_

'_He hasn't even bothered to contact me since I told him to quit pressuring me to quit the band. And he ran out on Mom and me to chase some skank instead. If that's caring about me, it's a rather crappy way to care.'_

Ratchet gave a mental sigh. _I still think it would be worth it to contact him. But I'm not going to force the issue. We got a few leads to pursue today, at least… maybe tomorrow we can investigate them in further detail. And stop cutting already, you're trying to saw the cutting board in half._

He glanced down to see the knife had passed through the lettuce already and was starting to carve a groove into the cutting board. He quickly set the knife aside and started tearing up the lettuce by hand. One bright spot to today was that at least they'd discovered two more hosts, and had leads on several more thanks to both Ratchet's senses and Huffer's observations. He just hoped they'd be able to track them all down quickly… though from that point, they'd have to contact the Autobots and find a way to convince them their allies were still alive. And there was the matter of if there was even a way to get the sparks out of the hosts without killing them…

The phone rang at that moment, interrupting his train of thought.

"I'll get it." He wiped his hands on a towel and rushed into the living room to grab it. "Hello?"

"When're you gonna get a cell phone, dude?" Zack demanded. "Be so much easier if I could just text you."

"Can't afford one, dummy," Conrad reminded him. "And not all of us have rich parents who can pay our bills for us."

"Har har," Zack retorted. "You so funny. And believe me, Dad never lets me forget that he's paying most of my expenses. It'll be a bright day when I can finally afford to move out of Alcatraz."

"You make it sound so horrible." He tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder and headed back to the table to finish the salad. "What's up? You didn't just call to gripe."

"Just calling to tell you I can't come to band practice tonight. Think you can live without your drummer?"

"Probably, we can just go over lyrics or chords tonight. You grounded or something?"

"Actually… I'm at the hospital."

Conrad paused, knife raised over the tomato he'd been chopping. "Hospital? Damn, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, it's the old man. Came home from karate practice to find him passed out in his wheelchair."

Conrad winced. He knew Zack and his father didn't always get along, but he didn't wish any ill on Mr. Bowen. The fact that he was currently hospitalized was a bit disturbing – despite being a paraplegic thanks to a car accident almost a decade ago, he was in pretty good shape health-wise. Had he suddenly had a stroke or something?

"Is he going to be okay?"

"They're running tests on him," Zack replied. "MRI, EKG, KBG, the whole shebang."

"KBG isn't a medical scan, dipwad."

"You know what I mean, nimrod. So far everything's coming up clean, though." A nervous pause. "Don't tell anyone, 'Rad, but… I'm getting scared. He's gotten weird, talking to people that aren't even there and stuff. I think he's starting to lose it."

A sudden burst of realization came from Ratchet's corner of his mind. _Primus below, another one!_

'_What? You think Zack's dad is a host?'_

_It would explain his symptoms. I'd have to get close to him to be sure, but if he's talking to someone Zack can't see and having some of these neurological problems… I'd say the chances of him being a host are pretty good._

That provided some relief – at least they had an idea as to the cause of Mr. Bowen's problems. But it still meant the poor guy didn't have much time left, not unless they moved fast.

"I think he'll be okay," he said at last. "He's probably just worked himself too hard lately. If it makes you feel better, though, I'll talk to my mom about it, all right?"

"Thanks, 'Rad," Zack replied, the tension draining from his voice. "You're the best co-worker-slash-band-leader ever."

"I'm the only co-worker-slash-band-leader you know, dip," he retorted. "You take care, all right? Keep me posted."

"Will do. See you at work tomorrow. Old man's insisting I go even with all this crap happening."

"You take care of yourself." He hung up and set the phone aside.

"Something wrong?" Mom asked, frowning worriedly.

"Zack's dad's in the hospital. He can't make it to practice tonight."

"Oh no… what's wrong?"

Before he could answer, the phone rang again.

"One sec." He picked it up and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, 'Rad."

"Hey Fielding. What's shakin'?"

"Nothing good. Listen, I hate to do this to you guys, but I'm not going to be able to make it tonight."

"Dad found out you were going to band practice tonight and flipped out?"

"No… it's my little brother. He's in the hospital."

He felt his stomach clench at that. "Which one?"

"The youngest, Tanner. He passed out and started throwing up tonight. My parents are at the ER with him right now, and the rest of us are waiting to hear how he's doing."

"Oh geez… I hope he's all right."

"I hope so too. Mom thinks he's been having micro-seizures lately – he'll just stop talking in the middle of a conversation and space out. And now this… I'm just hoping it's epilepsy and not a brain tumor or something."

Conrad blinked. _'Ratchet…'_

_I know… sounds like this is the kid Huffer was talking about. Unless two of them ended up in children, but for now we'll assume this is the one we're looking for. Poor kid…_

"Conrad, you there?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry Fielding, got distracted."

"Just said Mom just texted me. He's on his way home. The doctors have him scheduled for more tests tomorrow." He sighed. "You understand, right?"

"Totally, Field. Conrad can't make it anyhow, so maybe we'd better just call it off for tonight. I'll call Angie and let her know."

"All right. Sorry to do this to you guys."

"Hey, don't feel guilty. Just keep me posted. Take care."

"You too."

Conrad thumbed the phone off. "Fielding can't make it either. We're gonna have to cancel."

"Oh, that's too bad," Mom replied, looking over from the sink where she was draining the pasta. "Well, maybe that means we can have a family night tonight. We could watch the next episode of that show you like."

"_Game of Thrones? _I thought you hated it."

"It's growing on me. But remember our deal."

"Yes, Mom," he said with a slight chuckle. The deal had been that for every episode of _Game of Thrones _Conrad made his mom watch, he had to watch an episode of her favorite show, _Supernatural. _Privately he thought she only watched that show because she had a crush on the Winchesters... and if he really did have only a couple weeks left, better to spend it doing things with his mom, even if it was just watching their favorite shows together…

He mentally kicked himself. No, he wasn't going to die in two weeks. He and Ratchet were going to fix this, no matter what it took.

The phone went off a third time.

"Grand Central Station," Conrad muttered, then answered. "Hello?"

"'Rad?" The voice on the other end was quiet and high with fright.

"Angie?" He dropped the knife and stood, ready to bolt for the door and book it to her house. "Angie, you okay?"

"I can't come tonight," she said quickly. "Start practice without me. Sorry."

"Angie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just can't make it. Sorry."

"Angie," he began, but she hung up.

_Well, that's ominous, _Ratchet noted darkly.

"Mom, I've gotta go," Conrad said abruptly, and took off for the garage.

"Conner!" she exclaimed in dismay. "What about dinner?"

"Something's wrong with Angie!" he shouted back, flinging the garage door open and dragging his bike out. "I dunno what, but she sounded freaked out on the phone. I need to go make sure she's okay."

"Isn't that a job for the police? Conrad!"

He didn't bother to answer her, simply hauled the bike outside and started pedaling away. Thank God it was summer and still relatively light outside – in his haste he'd forgotten his helmet and reflector vest. No time to go back for them now.

_Your mom has a point, _Ratchet pointed out. _If she's truly in danger, the police would be better suited…_

'_I can't just sit on my ass and trust the cops to take care of it! What if it's something to do with her parents? The cops don't always take abuse cases seriously.' _He had no idea if it could still be called child abuse if the child in question was over eighteen, but that seemed merely a technicality at this point. And Angela's parents were not only short-tempered but notorious control freaks – and while they'd never threatened or physically hurt her before, there was always a first time.

* * *

Mr. Zaradnicheck was a bear of a man, tall and broad and with the sort of bushy beard that uncomfortably reminded Ratchet of a Hell's Angel. The moment he opened the door and leveled his steely glare on Conrad, he could feel sudden panic flood his host's mind. Even he couldn't help but flinch a bit, despite the man not even knowing he was there.

"Uh… hi," Conrad squeaked. "Is Angie there?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"I just wanted to talk to her…"

"You're that nobody she's dating, aren't you?"

"Uh… I guess?"

"She's sleeping," he replied gruffly. "She hasn't been feeling well. I don't want her bothered."

Ratchet caught a brief thought from Conrad's part of their shared mind – _likely story. _He had to admit that he knew little about Mr. Zaradnicheck, but he was certainly physically imposing enough that he could imagine him intimidating and even frightening many people, even his own daughter. And despite not wanting to believe that this man was capable of what Conrad thought, there was still the fact that Angela had called them not too long ago, and had sounded far too terrified to simply be sick…

"Dad?"

Mr. Zaradnicheck turned to look behind him, and his expression immediately softened. "Hey Princess… shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I feel fine, Dad," came the exasperated reply. "Really, I'm doing better. Who is it?" And the speaker nudged him aside to come face to face with Conrad.

Ratchet recognized her immediately, of course – she was the female employee from the game store, the one he'd seen the first day of his strange captivity. And from what he'd gathered of Conrad's thoughts, the two of them were pretty close. But what most interested him was the faint buzz of energy she gave off, one that had become quite familiar to him in the past few days.

_She's a host._

He felt Conrad's eyes widen slightly in surprise, then a quick mental acknowledgement. Aloud, Conrad said "Hey… you okay?"

She bit her lip nervously, then turned to look at her father. "Dad, I need to talk to 'Rad."

He nodded.

"Alone," she added pointedly.

He scowled. "I don't like the thought of you two by yourselves."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, I'm not a child," she griped. "And we're just going to talk, not go make out in his car. If he even had a car."

'_Yikes, that was harsh,' _Conrad thought with a wince.

_She's just trying to chase him off so we can talk in private, _Ratchet defended. _Don't take it too personally._

Mr. Zaradnicheck glared at Conrad. "You touch her and I'll make you regret it. You hear?"

"Yes sir," Conrad replied with a mix of fear and exasperation. He motioned for Angela to follow, and the two of them walked out into the driveway. Mr. Zaradnicheck's eyes bored into them the whole way, and even when he shut the door Ratchet had a suspicion that the man was watching them from a window. Primus, were all human fathers this paranoid?

Angela blew out a sigh and turned to face Conrad. "I'm scared, 'Rad."

"Is it your father?" he asked. "I know he's not happy with you being in the band, but…"

"It's not him," she replied. "I know you and him don't get along, and he can be a pain in the ass, but he's a good guy even if he's kinda overprotective." She hesitated, as if not sure how to explain things, then pressed on. "Conrad, I think I'm dying."

Shock and horror flooded their shared mind at that. Conrad's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Yesterday I was getting ready for work and I passed out in the shower," she confessed. "And ever since then I've been getting these weird dizzy spells… and my ears are playing weird tricks on me..." She shuddered. "I haven't told my parents – they'd freak out if they thought it was more than just a flubug. But I had to tell someone… and I figured you should know, at least…"

Familiar symptoms, Ratchet thought. It sounded like carrying Cybertronian sparks was already starting to affect the various hosts. More than anything, he hoped Shockwave's estimate of two weeks wasn't being generous, and that the humans caught up in this wouldn't suffer permanent damages. They had no part in the war and didn't deserve this.

"Your ears are playing tricks on you?" Conrad asked. "You mean like hearing voices?"

She tensed. "Not quite like that…"

"Angie, you can trust me," he assured her. "I just want to know if you're okay."

She looked down at her feet, then back up. "Yeah… yeah, it's voices. Some kind of auditory hallucination, I guess."

Conrad braced himself. _'Ready to make contact, Ratch?'_

_Ready._

He nodded and reached out to take Angela's hand in his. Ratchet immediately pulsed a thought toward her, hoping to reach her resident spark.

_This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots- _he began.

A voice interrupted him almost immediately. _This is Lord Starscream, leader of the Decepticons. Whoever's in there, please respo- oh, you have GOT to be KIDDING me!_

Angela's eyes nearly bulged in shock. "Oh my god…"

_Oh frag, _Ratchet cursed. _You too… you blasted Decepticons just can't stay dead, can you?_

_I could say the same for you, wretched Autobot, _Starscream sneered. _What are you doing here?_

_The same thing you're doing – trying to figure out what the slag is going on, and trying to gather the others and get myself in my own body again. Just didn't expect to find you along the way._

Unexpectedly, Angela broke out into laughter. "Thank god, I'm not the only one… there's someone else…"

"A lot of someone elses," Conrad replied. "Um… who's the Cobra Commander wannabe?"

_That's Lord Starscream to you, fleshling, _Starscream growled. _Leader of the Decepticons… or at least I will be once I get back to Cybertron and crush that despicable Galvatron character…_

"He just showed up out of the blue the morning I passed out," Angela explained. "At first he was screaming like a little girl…"

_Hey! _Starscream yelped indignantly.

"…yelling for someone not to kill him. Then he started rambling about going back to Cybertron and getting revenge. I thought I was going nuts."

"I know the feeling," Conrad admitted. "Though at least my guy was a little calmer about things."

"At least you got an Autobot," she griped, though she poked him good-naturedly. "So… Mr. Ratchet?"

_Just Ratchet, _he replied. _And I apologize for Starscream's behavior toward you, ma'am. He's not the easiest mech to deal with._

_Watch your vocalizer, Autobot. Else you'll be the first to die once I return to my true, glorious form._

"So humble, isn't he?" Angela noted. "So… I'm not dying, I just have a robot ghost stuck in my body?"

Ratchet wished he could lie to the girl and give her a completely honest yes. But medical professionalism won out. _Sadly, it seems Cybertronian energy is toxic to organics. If we don't find the others and get them back to Autobot City within two weeks…_

Her grip on Conrad's hand tightened. "How do we find them?"

_Starscream, in you and Angela's encounters with other humans, have you picked up any strange energy readings?_

_How should I know? The blasted human hasn't been outdoors since I got here. Only one I've gotten weird energy readings from is your host._

_Angela, do you feel up to going outside? We need to find the others as soon as possible, and Conrad and I aren't going to be able to do it alone. We need both of you to scour Provo, and keep an eye out for anyone giving off a strange energy signature. Once we've identified every spark we can, we'll contact Autobot City._

_Because they'll be SO eager to help the Decepticon Commander get his body back, _Starscream sneered.

"Oy!" Angela barked. "You be quiet! Don't make me take drastic measures to make you behave. Ever seen _Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo?"_

"Geez, Angie, you're cruel," Conrad laughed.

"Hey, now that I know there's an actual person in my head and not just oncoming schizophrenia, I can find ways to make him behave." She smirked.

Ratchet couldn't help a mental laugh of his own. It sounded like Angela would be the perfect fit for keeping Starscream under control. And now that she had adjusted to the situation, she would be the perfect ally in their quest.

"So who all have you found so far?" she asked.

"Huffer, Shockwave, and Shrapnel," Conrad replied. "Shockwave's in that kooky fortune-teller lady, Huffer's in Howard…" He waited for Angela to quit laughing at that. "And Shrapnel ended up in Gandalf."

"Your dog? Aww, poor puppy." She thought a moment. "Any idea where any others might be?"

"Yeah… we think Zack's dad and Fielding's little brother might have sparks as well. Also Crazy Jon and that one airhead who keeps coming into the store thinking we're a Hastings." Here he flinched mentally at the memory, a feeling Ratchet couldn't help but echo.

"She kicked you, didn't she?" Angela asked, smirking a little. "Let me handle her. She's less likely to feel threatened by another girl."

"Did you want to talk to the others and see what you can find out?" he asked. "I'll call in sick tomorrow and do another search. Maybe working together we can track them all down before…" He didn't finish, but everyone present knew what he was thinking.

_Just hurry, organic germ, _Starscream rasped. _If I die because you two glorified apes were too slow to act, I'll find a way to come back and haunt you._

_They won't be in any position to be haunted should that happen, _Ratchet pointed out. _But yes… we need to hurry._

"Roger-dodger," Angela replied. "I gotta go back in. Dad's probably looking daggers at us right now. But I'll get up early tomorrow and see if I can't hunt a few of these guys down."

"Me too. If we hurry, we might be able to beat this."

Ratchet whole-sparkedly agreed with that. That deal with Primus was coming back to haunt him in a way he hadn't expected at all. And if anything happened to these organics thanks to his rash decision, he would never forgive himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Chandra sighed and put back the copy of _Assassin's Creed _she'd been looking over. This place sucked. Not only did it not carry anything besides video games, but it didn't even have good video games. She might buy something from here if they carried something she actually played, like _Plants vs. Zombies _or _Rock Band, _but it was all shooters and slash-em-ups and weird imported Japanese stuff. Why did she even keep coming back here?

_I was gonna ask you th' same thing._

"Shut up," she grumbled, stalking down the aisle. "I didn't ask for your commentary."

_It took ya three visits t' this place t' figure out all they sell is video games? Primus, here I thought the females of yer species were actually intelligent._

"I said shut up," she muttered, and pulled out her iPhone and held it to the side of her head. If anyone saw her talking to herself, they'd have her locked up, so might as well make it look like she was having a phone conversation.

_That's th' first time I've seen you use your head since I got here._

"If all you can do is insult me, Ironman, then get lost."

_Ironhide, not Ironman. Primus, at least try t' get my name right!_

"That's a dumb name," Chandra noted, giving a nearby shelf of game cartridges a weird look. Did people even still play those games anymore? Those looked old enough for her dad to have played. Unless they were some kind of collector's item…

_So why do you keep comin' here if y' ain't gonna buy nothin'? _the voice demanded. _Yer wastin' our time here._

Our time… like a voice in her head had time of its own to waste. She supposed she should have been a little more worried about hearing voices, but then, she had hit her head pretty hard when she'd lost her balance and fallen off her horse last week. It was possible this was just an aftereffect of the concussion and would wear off soon. So long as it didn't result in her getting kicked out of her riding club, she was fine with it.

_Are ya listenin' to me? There's better things we could be doin' than killin' time here. _

"What I'm doing here is none of your business," she snapped. "And what things, genius?"

"Ironhide" seemed about to reply, but just then someone walked out of the back room of the store… and Chandra thought her heart would stop.

"Sorry I'm late," the employee blurted as he made his way to the register. "Had to drop my mom and brother off at the hospital before work."

"Don't worry about it, Fielding," the other employee told him. "Just glad you could come in. 'Rad called in sick, and who knows if Angie's gonna show up. Seems like everyone's got the crud this week."

"I know," Fielding replied. "It's a little scary. Think there's a disease going around?"

Chandra didn't pay much attention to the conversation – she just ducked behind a shelf and pretended to browse, though she cast the occasional covert glance at the employee that called himself Fielding. He was in early today! Wonderful! Now if she could just keep him from noticing she was staring at him… though maybe if he noticed her he'd come up and ask if he could help her find something, or even offer a date…

_Primus almighty, _groaned the voice. _THAT'S the reason we're here?_

Chandra couldn't help it – she giggled. "Isn't he dreamy?"

_How'm I supposed t' know if he's… dreamy? _The voice sounded disgusted at having to say that last word. _I don't look at th' males of yer species that way. An' ain't he old for you?_

"Hey, be quiet," she complained. "Chris Hemsworth is too old for me and I don't hear you complaining that I shouldn't be looking."

_Who th' frag is Hemsworth?_

"He was Thor in that movie we watched last night, remember? He's so cute!"

The voice sighed. _Only a human femme can ruin a good action flick by droolin' over th' actors…_

"Oh, hey there."

Chandra felt her heart leap – Fielding was talking to her! She looked up, opening her mouth to form a reply… only to groan in dismay. The employee wasn't addressing her, but a girl who was entering the store. On the plus side, she recognized this girl as another employee, so at least she was fairly positive she was just a co-worker instead of a girlfriend.

_There's somethin' funny about her._

"That's what you said about the creepy guy yesterday."

_I kept tellin' you we shoulda stopped to talk to him…_

Before Ironhide could go on, the girl walked up to Chandra. She smiled broadly and held out her hand.

"Hey there," she greeted. "My name's Angela. I've seen you around here."

Chandra pushed aside her irritation and smiled back, holding her own hand out. "You work here, right? Maybe you can help me find something?"

"I do, but I'm not on duty right now," Angela explained. "I actually needed to talk to you about something." She clasped Chandra's in hers.

_This is Lord Starscream, leader of the Decepticons. _That voice wasn't Ironhide – it was higher-pitched and raspy, as if the speaker had a bad case of laryngitis but was determined to speak through it. _If there is a fellow Decepticon in there – or an Autobot, I suppose – please respond._

Chandra froze, and from the back of her mind she could feel a burst of shock from… presumably the voice. Before either she or Ironhide could speak up, though, Angela cut in.

"I know what you're going through," she said comfortingly, squeezing her hand. "What both of you are going through, actually. And we're here to help you."

* * *

_There's got to be a better way to do this._

'_Don't you start the "get a cell phone already" talk. And there's worse options than this.'_

There was a grand total of one public pay phone left in this area of Provo, and it was attached to a consignment store on the far end of the same strip mall Angry Duck Games occupied. One of the managers at the store was a frequent customer at the game store and was fairly friendly with the Angry Duck crew, and when Conrad had made the oddball request of being allowed to take calls there, she had obliged. Now he waited, leaning against the brick wall and ready to duck out of sight if Mr. Jakobsen or one of his co-workers happened to spot him.

He and Angela had decided that she would check up on the leads he'd made yesterday before he ventured out to further explore the city. Once she'd followed up on those they suspected already carried sparks, he would go out and see if he could find anyone else. It was their hopes – and Ratchet and Starscream's – that with two people doing the searching instead of one, they could track everyone down before their time ran out.

What to do then… even Ratchet wasn't sure of that. But Conrad figured they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

The phone rang, and Conrad grabbed for the receiver. "Hello?"

"Okay, here's the sitch," Angela informed him. "The girl who kicked you? Her name is Chandra Palmer. She'll be a junior in high school once school starts again, and she's playing host to someone called Ironhide."

_Ironhide! _Ratchet sounded both relieved and amused at that. _Oh, Primus, the poor mech… _And he cracked up laughing.

"Ratchet thinks that's hilarious, apparently," Conrad noted.

"So does Starscream, actually," Angela laughed. "She's actually willing to work with us too, provided I set her up with a date with Fielding."

"Isn't he too old for her? Not to mention I don't think he's allowed to date outside his religion."

"We'll figure something out. Anyhow, moving on… I was able to bump into Fielding's family as they were coming out of the hospital. His little brother, Tanner, has someone named Prowl inside him."

_Prowl… in a child's body… _ Ratchet seemed about to laugh again but restrained himself. _Is Tanner all right?_

"How's Tanner?" Conrad relayed.

"Doing fine now, it looks like," Angela replied. "His family's pretty stressed – all the tests have come back negative, apparently. But the kid thinks it's awesome that he has a giant robot stuck in his head. His family's still convinced he's got an imaginary friend, though."

"What about Zack's dad? Were you able to meet up with him?"

"Yeah, actually… does the name Brawn mean anything to you, Ratch?"

_That's one of ours, _Ratchet replied. _And it sounds like we've managed to uncover the entire crew of our shuttle now. That's a big step from where we were before._

Conrad relayed all that, then added "Did you find Jon?"

"No, but I'll keep looking. Oh, I did get another lead on a possible spark – Fielding says there was some excitement at his church yesterday. The bishop passed out at the podium, and they had to call an ambulance for him."

"Yikes. Is he okay?"

"I guess he's back home now. He's a physician at a family clinic just two blocks from the game store. If you hurry maybe you can catch him."

"I thought you said he was a bishop, not a doctor."

"He's a bishop AND a doctor. I guess Mormons don't play their clergy, so they have to work other jobs on the side."

That made sense. "Anything else?"

"Starscream got some weird vibes when I took that shortcut past the… uh… gentleman's club downtown. They aren't open yet, but you might check it out later."

"Uh, no."

"Come on, 'Rad, you know I can't go in!"

"Do you know how much trouble I'd be in if my mom found out I was going into a strip club?"

_If it means saving the life of whoever is in there that has a spark, then it'll be worth it, _Ratchet cut in. _Let's face it, we're running out of time. If we don't find the sparks soon, it'll mean a lot more deaths. Surely your mother can't object to that._

Conrad groaned. He'd had a feeling this whole search was going to end up causing problems. He had rather hoped that getting groin-kicked by a girl would be the worst of it, though. Now it sounded like he was going to have to embarrass himself further.

"All right," he conceded. "I'll see what I can do. Let's just hope whoever it is isn't inside a dancer, or we're screwed. Most places have a 'don't touch the dancers' rule."

"And you know this how?"

"It was on _CSI, _shut up. I'm gonna run and talk to that bishop. You keep looking, all right?"

"Will do. Love you, 'Rad."

"Love you, Angie. Be safe." He returned the phone to its receiver, blowing out a sigh. "Wow… can we get any more complete opposites than that? A religious guy and a stripper?"

_I have to admit, that's a little extreme for a random chance. Still, coincidences happen. It's still unusual that all these sparks ended up in such close proximity to each other._

'_Lucky for us, at least. If we'd had to search the entire planet or even just the state for all these people, we'd be screwed.'_

_True._

Conrad mounted his bike and set off. _'How many do we have left?_

Ratchet paused, and Conrad thought he could feel him silently counting off names in his head. _Ironhide, Brawn, and Prowl make eight of us now. We're at the halfway mark._

'_Good… means we should be able to get everyone together before the two weeks are up. Just hope everyone's willing to cooperate.'_

_I hope so too. And I hope our scientists can do something about all this as well. _Ratchet paused, as if pondering something. _Sooner or later you're going to have to tell your parents about this, you know._

'_Are you kidding me? Mom would freak out. And Dad doesn't give a damn whether I'm alive or dead.'_

_They're your creators, for frag's sake! They've got a right to know! And I'm sure your father cares…_

'_He didn't even bother showing up at my high school graduation. What's going to make him suddenly care that I've got a toxic alien ghost in my head?'_

_I'm trying to be helpful here, Conrad! Maybe you and your father have a bad past, but he's got a right to know. And what will freak your mother out more – knowing you have a possibly terminal condition but knowing you still have a chance, or suddenly finding you dead one day? Because if we don't figure out how to get me out of your body in time, that could very well happen._

The thought of his mom coming in to wake him up one day, only to find his lifeless body, made the bottom drop out of his stomach. Reluctantly he had to admit that Ratchet had a point. If his mom suddenly found out she had cancer or ASL or something similar, he'd want to know how much time she had left instead of not knowing until the disease had taken its toll. For him to do that to her would be cruel.

Telling his dad was another story… but maybe he could avoid that. And thankfully a handy change of subject came up right ahead.

"This looks like the place," he said aloud, braking in front of the clinic and chaining his bike to a handy rack. "Let's hope the doctor's in and isn't busy."

_Did you think to get his name?_

'…'

Well, crap. He'd completely forgotten to ask Angela for that bit of info. Stumped, he walked into the clinic and had a look around. Maybe he'd somehow recognize their particular doctor as a Mormon right off the bat. Fielding wore a ring with the initials CTR on them – "Choose the Right," basically the Mormon equivalent to "What Would Jesus Do?" Maybe this bishop would be wearing something like that?

"Sir, can I help you?"

"Huh?" He glanced up to find the receptionist looking at him. "Uh… I just needed to see one of the doctors here."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I'm not sick or anything… I just need to talk to him."

"All our physicians are with patients at the moment. Tell me which one you need to see and I'll take a message for you."

"Uh…" Why hadn't Angie given him the name first thing? Finally he decided he'd have to fib his way into an audience with this doctor-bishop. Hopefully if there was a God, he wouldn't immediately fire a lightning bolt in his direction for lying to a man of the cloth.

_Lightning bolt? _Ratchet asked, puzzlement clouding his corner of their mind. _We're indoors. You humans have some odd theology._

'_Says the giant robot who claims his god turns into a planet?'_

_Oh, hush. That at least makes some degree of sense…_

"Sir?" The receptionist was sounding a little impatient now.

"Oh, um… it's a personal thing. I need to talk to my bishop about… something, and it can't wait until Sunday."

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up in understanding, and she nodded. "You're wanting Dr. Donaldson, then. I'll let him know you're in. It might be a little while, but you're welcome to wait for him if you'd like."

"Thanks, ma'am." Conrad went to sit down, kicking a couple of plastic blocks out of the way before settling in. The waiting room was fairly messy, with toys scattered from one end to the other and some outdated magazines scattered on the end tables. He guessed a couple people with young kids had been in here sometime today. Thankfully the only people in at the moment were a woman with a young baby, watching a news report on the waiting room's TV, and an older man asleep in a chair near the entrance.

For a time he simply waited in silence. Then, as impatience began gnawing at him, he began to shuffle through the magazines in an attempt to find something to distract himself. Things like _Time _and _Good Housekeeping_ didn't exactly make for thrilling reading, but at least they'd kill time.

Naturally Ratchet decided to pipe up at that moment. _Conrad… it's about time I told you something._

'_Hmm? I'm listening.' _He finally decided on a _Sports Illustrated _and began to thumb through it. He didn't normally follow sports, but if he was going to be caught reading a magazine, better this than something potentially embarrassing like _Cosmo_.

_It's about me being here… I don't think it was entirely accidental. And… I think… _Ratchet hesitated, and Conrad could sense that he was dreading saying whatever it was he had to say. That didn't bode well… and he could feel his gut start to clench in apprehension.

_I think it may be my fault that I'm here. That you're in this situation._

'_What are you talking about? What do you mean it's your fault? Not like you were planning on getting shot…'_

_I didn't tell you the whole story of what happened when I was shot…_

Before Ratchet could say another word, however, a man in a white doctor's coat stepped into the waiting room. He was fairly tall and looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, with dark hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples, startlingly blue eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses, and a face that somehow looked authoritative and kindly at the same time. He gave Conrad a friendly smile before turning to the receptionist, and the two fell into a brief, murmured conversation.

_That must be our target, _Ratchet noted. _He's got a spark, at any rate._

'_Good to know,' _Conrad replied, though he couldn't help feeling just a stab of annoyance that Ratchet had cut off in the middle of his explanation. He'd try to weasel a straight answer out of him once they were done here.

The doctor finished talking to the receptionist and headed over to Conrad. "Good morning, sir. I'm Dr. Donaldson, family physician. It's a pleasure." He extended a hand. "I was told you needed to talk to me?"

"Uh, yeah… do you have an office or something? This is kinda private…"

Dr. Donaldson frowned. "You're not a patient, and I don't recognize you from church… could I ask what this is about?"

Conrad opened his mouth, then figured it was best to let Ratchet do the talking. He reached out and grabbed the offered hand. Ratchet didn't waste any time and immediately launched into his standard request.

_This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots. If there is a fellow Cybertronian in there, please respond._

There was no reply. The doctor's mouth fell open in shock.

_I know you're in there, _Ratchet snapped, dropping his professional demeanor and letting his impatience show. _Stop hiding and say something. I've got important news for you and your host._

_Who says I'm hiding, wretched Autobot?_

Ratchet sputtered incoherently, and Conrad's hand jerked away of Dr. Donaldson's of its own accord. The doctor was about the color of his coat now, and was looking unsteady enough on his feet that the receptionist was giving the two of them a concerned look.

'_Ratchet! I told you not to do that again!'_

_It was an accident! I panicked! Primus-fraggit, of all mechs to run into today…_

'_What, someone you hate?'_

_It's Megatron! The leader of the Decepticons!_

Suddenly Ratchet's desire to stop touching the doctor's hand made perfect sense. In fact, Conrad had a sudden desire to get the hell out of the clinic and as far away as he could. Megatron! He didn't know much about the Decepticon commander, but what little he'd learned from the news reports and Ratchet's explanations was enough to chill him to the core. This mech seemed to be a combination of the worst traits of every tyrant he could think of, a brutal yet cunning leader who would see Earth sucked dry and reduced to lifeless rock in order to fuel his plans for conquest…

Dr. Donaldson grabbed Conrad's arm and dragged him down a hallway, making a beeline for an examination room.

"Hey!" Conrad tried to squirm free, but the doctor was stronger than he looked. Before he had more than a moment to process what was happening the doctor had steered him into the room, plunked him in a chair, and shut and locked the door. Then he fixed Conrad with a bewildered look.

"What's going on here?" he demanded in a breathless whisper.

"It's okay, sir," Conrad assured him, though he knew that was something of a lie right now. "You're not going crazy or anything. You've got the… the soul, I guess, of a dead Cybertronian in you. So do I, actually. But it sounds like we got ones that are from opposite sides."

The doctor just stared at him a moment longer. Then a flicker of understanding shone in his eyes, and he sat dazedly down on the examination table, holding his head in his hands.

"Then this is real," he murmured. "I'm not going crazy…"

_Primus, the poor man, _Ratchet said sympathetically. _This had to be a nightmare for him. Especially given who's in his head right now._

Conrad couldn't help feeling a surge of pity towards Dr. Donaldson as well. Cautiously he got up from his chair and went to the doctor's side, resting a hand on his shoulder. The man didn't move, but somehow Conrad could feel Megatron inside him, almost flinching away from the touch in disgust.

"Dr. Donaldson… or Bishop Donaldson, I guess… it's all right. Well, not entirely, but… we're going to fix this."

He lowered his hands, still pale but looking more in control of himself now. "I'll be all right," he said at last. "And call me Adam. You're not a patient or a member of my church, so for now just call me by my first name."

"Can do. I'm Conrad, by the way. Conrad Hawkins."

Adam nodded. "I started hearing voices last week… screaming, raging, cursing some entity called Unicron. I thought I was delusional, that work and my church and things at home were stressing me out so much I was cracking. I even wondered if I might be… possessed, even though our church doesn't do exorcisms and such. Then the voice went away, and I assumed that whatever it was had been temporary. That was before the blackouts, and the balance problems… but I didn't dare tell my family what was going on. I didn't want them to worry."

_I'm so sorry about this, sir, _Ratchet told him, sounding almost contrite. _You didn't deserve this. And I'm sorry to say this, but… the blackouts and other side effects aren't good news. If we don't get Megatron's spark out of you soon, it could be fatal._

Adam gave a shudder. "You're… a doctor, sir? A medic, you said? Can you cure this?"

_I don't know… but I'm fragged well going to try. You have my word on that, sir._

_Of course the Autobot would be more concerned about the human's welfare than a fellow Cybertronian's, _Megatron sneered. _You don't care that one of your own kind is trapped in a disgusting organic body, wasting and decaying away while his host pretends he's just a figment of an addled imagination? I can't even move this body's limbs! I'm helpless in here!_

Privately Conrad felt relief that Megatron hadn't figured out how to hijack Adam's body for his own use. Then he found himself hoping Megatron couldn't read his thoughts while he was in contact with his host's body. No sense giving a mechanical space tyrant ideas.

_And since when have YOU cared about any other Cybertronian's welfare than your own, Megatron? _Ratchet snapped.

_Why you insolent pacifistic weakling! _Megatron snarled. _You talk so big NOW when I'm unable to fight back, but just wait until I get my body back…_

"Okay, knock it off, you two," Conrad ordered. "Look, Megs, I get that you're not happy with this. Nobody is. But would it make you feel better if I told you that some of the other Decepticons are alive too? Just stuck in other bodies?"

_That all depends on which ones have survived, _Megatron grumbled.

"Um… Shrapnel, Starscream, possibly Thundercracker and Skywarp… oh, and Shockwave." That reminded him, he needed to check his e-mail and see if Madame Sapphique had anything interesting to say. She might be a loony, but she was still one of their weird little group now.

_Naturally, my most useless and treacherous subordinate survived, _Megatron noted with disdain. _How is it Starscream is so adept at cheating death? Thundercracker and Skywarp are at least marginally more useful… _He seemed to ponder a moment. _Knowing Shockwave is close by is at least some good news. Let's hope his host is at least somewhat more accepting of the situation._

Ratchet snorted in laughter. _She's… actually taking it quite well._

_What's so amusing, medic?_

_Nothing, nothing… Dr. Donaldson, I'm going to have to ask you to hang tight a little longer. We're still trying to track down the rest of the Autobots and Decepticons who we believe might be in the area. Once we've located everyone, we'll organize a meeting and plan our next step. It might entail going to Autobot City and seeing if our medics and scientists there can help. And sir… if I were you, I'd tell your family what's going on. This is a serious matter, and they deserve to know. At least tell your wife, if no one else._

He hesitated, then nodded. "What if she doesn't believe me?"

_Hmm… well, it seems that contact with a host allows communication between a spark and another spark's host. I don't know if that applies to a human that's not carrying, but it's worth a shot. Megatron, if it comes to it, will you agree to talk to his wife and brief her on the situation?_

_You expect me to lower myself to communicate with a lowly fleshling?_

_If you don't want your host to drop dead in a couple of weeks and kill you off in the process, then yes, _Ratchet snapped. _Also, I expect you to let us know if you encounter anyone else carrying a spark. If we don't find everyone and get our sparks back in proper Cybertronian bodies soon, then our spark energies will terminate our hosts, and us with them. Conrad'll leave you his contact information before we go._

"I'll let you know," Adam promised. "And Ratchet… Conrad… thank you. Knowing what's wrong with me is a huge load off my chest."

"Even if what's wrong with you turns out to be the ghost of an alien warlord?"

At that, the doctor actually cracked up laughing. "Oh wow… put it that way, it sounds like something off the science fiction channel. But yes… even if it's that, it's better than not having any sort of clue at all."

Conrad smiled. "Take care of yourself, sir. And um… God be with you, I guess?"

Adam chuckled. "I'm not sure how you know I'm a bishop…"

"A friend of mine's in your congregation. Fielding Pratt?"

"Ah yes, him. But you can talk to me like I'm a normal person, you know. We don't stand on formality in our church."

"That's good to know. Thanks, sir. See you later."

"You take care, Conrad."

* * *

It looked like finding Megatron would be their last stroke of luck for the day – if running into the Autobots' worst enemy could be called luck. Conrad had pedaled through a good chunk of the city and found no one else. Ratchet had felt the pull of another spark twice, but the first time turned out to be Howard again, and the second managed to elude them by getting on a bus before they could track them down. Which meant their target could be anywhere by now.

Ratchet couldn't shake off a feeling of discouragement as Conrad hauled his bike through the house and toward the garage. Surely there had to be a better way to find their missing comrades than this. Even though they kept asking every new host they met to alert them if they found anyone else, only Angie was proving to be helpful. The longer this search went on, the greater the chance was that their spark energies could wreak irreversible damage on their hosts.

And if any of these organics – or his comrades – died before they could get help, he would never forgive himself.

Conrad sighed as he dumped his bike in the garage and headed to his room to change his clothes. The young man had called in sick to work but donned his work clothes anyway, apparently just in case he ran into his mother right before or after they'd left so that she wouldn't know he'd skipped a day. Ratchet didn't approve of that bit of subterfuge, and even though he knew the kid's heart was in the right place – he still didn't want to worry his mom – he couldn't help but feel there had to be a better way to handle the situation than lying. Such as just coming right out and telling her what was going on.

Though in that case, Ratchet supposed he needed to come clean and tell Conrad him being here wasn't an accident. If Primus had indeed accepted his bargain and spared his life by putting him in an organic body, then it was pretty much his fault that Conrad, Angie, and all the others were in this position in the first place. But Ratchet feared that if he told his host the truth, he'd be angry enough to stop helping him entirely.

_Come on, he's not that unreasonable, _he told himself. _He might be upset, but I seriously doubt he's going to give up on this cause because of it. Especially since his life hinges on this._

"You're awfully broody in there," Conrad noted, pulling on a T-shirt that bore the strange slogan "Save Ferris." "What's on your processor, Ratch?"

_Hmm? Oh… just something I wanted to discuss with you._

"Yeah, you were starting to say something back in the doctor's office." He sat down at the desk and turned on his computer. "Mind if I check my e-mail and put on a movie while we talk?"

_Not at all. _Maybe having Conrad semi-distracted while he talked might lessen his chances of getting too angry with the medic.

"All right." Conrad booted up his laptop. "How's the new _Voltron _movie sound to you?"

_Voltron? Isn't that the cartoon from a couple decades back about the giant robot? The one made of cats?_

"Robotic lions, actually, but yeah. It was pretty popular. But then someone got the bright idea to make a live-action movie based on it, and they got the guy who made _Armageddon_ to direct it." He opened a web browser and began to tinker. "I think it's pretty sweet, but Zack keeps whining that they've ruined Voltron forever and Michael Bay's a hack and all that jazz."

_Seems like a pretty trivial thing to complain about. It's just a movie, after all._

"Yeah, but it's pretty funny for the rest of us. And it's not a bad movie. Kinda stupid, but it's fun if you don't mind turning your brain off for a couple hours."

_Right. But we're getting off track here. There's something we need to discuss…_

"Wait." Conrad leaned forward suddenly, a jolt of excitement running through their shared mind. "Ratch… am I reading this right?"

Ratchet felt momentarily grateful for the distraction… but what he read in the e-mail Conrad had just opened would have caused his fans to shut down momentarily if he still had them.

_Hello, Conrad, this is Madame Sapphique. Just wanted to let you know I found one of your "spark" friends. Does the name Optimus Prime mean anything to you or your companion?_


End file.
